


We The Fireworks

by happilylarreh (AfterJenny)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 5 Seconds of Summer - Freeform, Alternate Universe, And Romance, Angst, Bottom Louis, Depression, Drop Out Louis, Ed plays the guitar, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Gay Male Character, Harry Styles Loves Louis Tomlinson, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, James Corden is Dr Corden, London, Louis Tomlinson Loves Harry Styles, Louis works in a cinema, M/M, More angst, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Photographer Harry, Sexual Abuse, Smut, Top Harry, and wears glasses, basically angst, but it all works out, by an OC, feature very briefly, i don't know how to tag, it's not as heavy as it sounds, many in fact, niall is irish, so does Zayn, they all live in London
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:30:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 103,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3568061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfterJenny/pseuds/happilylarreh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the morning after the night before and Louis doesn’t know how on earth he made it home in one piece but he reckons it maybe has something to do with the curly-haired stranger, standing half-naked in his kitchen. The problem is that this mysterious stranger, who has a huge secret and an even huger heart, doesn’t seem to plan on leaving Louis’ life anytime soon and doesn’t seem to be able to get it into his stupidly adorable, curly head that Louis is absolutely, utterly, completely, one hundred percent beyond help. Out of reach. Lost in the night.</p><p>Or</p><p>The AU where Louis needs saving and Harry wants to save him but doesn’t want to admit that maybe he needs saving a little bit too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't want to say too much but just know that this is not as traumatic as the tags may make it sound. It is actually happy and hopefully will make you smile lots. There is just a lot of angst and stuff but I promise it's worth hanging in there. I will warn you at the start of a chapter if I think it may be triggering. 
> 
> Much thanks is due to [enoughenoughnow](http://enoughenoughnow.tumblr.com/) for her general wonderfulness, support and encouragement.
> 
> I'm [happilylarreh](http://happilylarreh.tumblr.com/post/127486849255/we-the-fireworks-by-happilylarreh-warnings) :)
> 
> Happy reading. xxx

Louis has the vague sensation of being in a car. His stomach is lurching at an alarming rate. He is maybe mumbling things, but maybe not. The flashing lights and pounding vibrations of the club have been replaced by nauseating movement and darkness, punctuated by bright white lights streaking past. Time is speeding up.

And then it is cold, and quiet and not for the first time that night Louis feels a firm unfamiliar hand around his waist. He sees his door. Yes this is his doorstep. He’s almost sure of it. The door is opening. A familiar face swims before him. 

Louis’ stomach clenches, and he feels a tell-tale tug at the back of his throat, and then he’s spewing his guts out, literally spewing them everywhere, and he feels like he might explode, and also a bit like he wants to curl up and die. He thinks he probably will. 

“Oops” is all he hears before he blacks out. 

***

The next morning, Louis is woken up to Niall crashing pots and pans around the kitchen, unfortunately situated next to his bedroom. He knows it's Niall, because the crashing is accompanied by the whistling of an Irish folk tune. Leave it to Niall to be a walking cliché.

Louis groans and rolls over, willing the world to stop spinning and his head to stop throbbing. The light pouring through his window is offensively bright and he squeezes his eyes tight shut again, hoping for darkness.

And then it comes rushing back. In one massive stomach churning moment, he remembers it all. The breath of the bearded man, the weight of his huge sweaty body against Louis’, pressing him in, suffocating him. It had almost happened again. 

He feels sick. He flings his duvet off the bed and lies there, shivering. He vaguely remembers coming back home last night. Maybe. At least, he thinks he can just about recall hearing Eleanor’s worried voice and a less familiar male voice, muttering in hushed tones as he was drifting off to sleep in his drunken stupor. Maybe Eleanor had had Max round last night. 

Eventually, reluctantly, he drags himself out of bed. He goes into the kitchen, now mercifully free of Niall and his crashing, in search of tea to soothe his very unhappy stomach. Just as he is filling up the kettle, Eleanor wanders in, looking fresh and ready for the day in a way which Louis does not appreciate one bit. 

“Morning Lou, how’s the head?”

“Shhhh” Louis whispers, “indoor voices please.” He is absolutely not in the mood for a conversation but, from the look on Eleanor’s face, he figures they are about to have one.

“Sooo… you had an interesting night last night.” Eleanor leans against the counter, one hand on her hip, expression flitting between disapproval and concern. “I don’t suppose you recall much of it?”

Louis scowls. He remembers the first part perfectly. He remembers dragging himself out to meet Zayn at Ed’s gig, in an attempt to socialize like a normal human being, the advice of his friends, and Dr Corden, in the back of his mind. He remembers trying and failing miserably to convince himself that he would arrive home at a reasonable hour and in a reasonable state of soberness. He remembers the panic he felt at being in a crowded pub with its sea of unfamiliar faces, and he remembers thinking it was a good idea to down pint after pint in an attempt to quell said panic…

“Do you want to know about my night?” Eleanor asks. 

Louis says nothing. She ploughs on.

“Well it was going just dandy thank you very much. Finished my essay, skyped with Max, got a nice early night, just lovely really… until about two in the morning when I was woken up by some random guy, calling from your phone, to tell me that you are basically passed-out-off-your-tits-shit-faced… he didn’t say it quite like that but I got the gist,” – Louis grimaces – “and that he needs our address so that he can get you home.” 

What the hell? This wasn’t beardy creep was it? Surely not. Oh god. Louis can hardly remember anything of how he got home. 

“I assumed he meant he was going to just put you in a cab and send it on its way. I had no idea he would show up on our doorstep with you!”

Louis vaguely remembers something about the doorstep. And something about throwing up.

And something about curls…? 

Oh. 

“So anyway,” Eleanor continues, “I open the door to see this random guy I don’t know, holding you up, and you, by the way, looked incredibly green and unattractive,” Louis makes a sort of pleading face at her, “and then next thing I know you’re vomming all over the doorstep, and also on his shoes which… poor bloke, _that’s_ the thanks he receives for bringing you home safely and making sure you’re not in a gutter somewhere…” 

Louis sighs as the kettle boils and he sets about making two cups of tea. He doesn’t want to get into this conversation with Eleanor again. They’ve had it a lot recently, in various forms. He knows she’s worried about him, can see it written across her face right now. Thankfully she doesn’t push it.

“This all kind of rings a bell,” Louis says after a moment. “I definitely remember throwing up.” He grimaces at the thought. He really really needs to clean his teeth. His mouth feels fuzzy. His breath must reek to high heaven. 

“And I’m pretty sure I remember the guy. Fairly tall, curly, brunette right?” 

Eleanor nods, and looks as if she might say something, but Louis ploughs ahead, feeling the need to explain himself. 

“I was with Zayn and his housemate Ed you see. Well, Ed was playing at The Duke’s Head, and we all had a few too many - you know what Zayn’s like - but I do actually remember most of the night.” Louis’ not sure who he’s trying to convince, Eleanor or himself. “It was pretty standard pints with the lads really. Honest. It’s just the last part that is a teeny tiny bit blurry. But I definitely remember curls…”

“Hang on. Does that mean Zayn left you when you were in that state?” she asks sharply. “Surely he would’ve put you in a taxi himself…” 

“No, god no, he would never leave me if I were that wasted. I just, sort of… ended up staying for a couple more drinks after they had gone.”

“At The Duke’s Head?” Eleanor looks dubious.

“Mmm, well that closes at midnight so…” Louis shrugs. Suddenly he doesn’t think this whole explaining himself thing was such a good idea. How exactly is he supposed to explain to El, or to anyone for that matter, that he has recently taken to drinking on his own far more than any of his friends are aware? 

Eleanor wants to ask; Louis can see she’s itching to. But instead she takes a sip of her tea, brow furrowed.

“He was really fit as well wasn’t he?” Louis groans, after a few moments. 

It’s all coming back to him now. He had gone to that horrible club near The Duke’s Head, SoYoHo or something horrendous, and then there was this gross bearded guy, and Louis must have fallen over or something because then there was this curly haired guy, this seriously beautiful, curly guy leaning over him, helping him up. 

A faint smell of urinals permeates his memory. Was he on a toilet floor at one point? God. Louis really hates himself sometimes. 

“Huh?” Eleanor asks, looking confused and shaking Louis out of his hellish trip down memory lane. 

“The curly guy. I seem to remember him being fit.” Louis tries to shrug it off, already exhausted by the conversation. And it’s not even midday! He can’t bear to think about what an embarrassing state he must have been in. At least he’ll never have to see the guy again. 

“Oh yeah. He was,” Eleanor nods her agreement, although her brow is still creased with concern. Louis wants to smooth it out. Make light of this whole situation. 

“I really embarrassed myself royally, didn’t I?” He tries for a laugh. It’s almost convincing.

“Very much so. Right royal twat you,” she teases fondly, before her expression softens and she tilts her head, giving Louis a knowing look. “But babe, you need to be careful, I worry about you, we all do. I…”

“Don’t say it.” Louis interrupts her forcefully. No way. He is too hungover for this, and he doesn’t need to hear it right now. At all. How his friends all pity him and how he causes them nothing but worry these days. 

An edge of tension flares momentarily between the two of them. Louis sips at his tea. 

“Well, look on the bright side,” he says a few seconds later, going for a light-hearted tone, “I can safely promise that I will never return to that godforsaken place ever again. If only to avoid the shame of having to face fit curly man.” He takes another sip of his tea and feels it slide down his throat in soothing waves. “As much as I would love to thank him for being my knight in shining armour and all that, I don’t think I would be able to stomach the crippling humiliation of talking to someone who has witnessed me in that state and then had to endure the beauteous sight of me throwing up all over his…”

Eleanor raises her eyebrows, glancing over Louis’ shoulder, just as Louis hears a small cough behind him.

“Erm…hiii” says a tentative voice. It’s sleep-roughened but even so, Louis is pretty sure it doesn’t belong to Liam or Niall. 

Stomach steadily sinking, Louis turns around to see a very tall, very beautiful, and very shirtless boy standing in his doorway. A mop of brown curls falls almost to his shoulders, and his wide green eyes are darting nervously between Louis and Eleanor, as if unsure whether he is welcome to step foot into their little kitchen-kingdom. 

Louis just gawps at him. Seriously universe, as if last night wasn’t enough? What on earth is this guy doing here? Why is he in Louis’ kitchen and not far away like he is supposed to be? 

And…oh god, he has tattoos. Curly has actual tattoos littered across his chest and stomach and all down one arm. This is so not OK.

Louis is staring, and now Curly is staring back, and oh god Louis should say something, should thank him for last night – _what_ is he doing here? - offer him some tea maybe – seriously, universe, why is he here? - and then swiftly usher him out of the house and away from Louis’ life so that Louis can go back to being miserable and cynical about everyone he meets, and can curl up in a ball far away from men who have butterfly tattoos on their stomachs and…

“Erm, hi Harry. Would you like some tea?” Eleanor. Thank god for Eleanor. 

“Actually that would be great if there’s one going,” says Curly, who is apparently called Harry, as he takes a small step into the room. 

“Did you sleep alright? I know that sofa isn’t the comfiest thing in the world,” she continues, making up a cup of tea for the boy who definitely should not be here. 

“You know, it was actually not that bad. Far as sofas go it was surprisingly comfy.” Harry smiles winningly at Eleanor before glancing at Louis, a note of anxiety in his gaze.

Louis is still staring. He is aware that he is staring but that doesn’t mean he can change the fact. Apparently this is what he does now. He stares at curly Harry people. 

“How are you feeling this morning Louis?” Oh god, curly Harry person is talking to Louis. He knows his name and everything. Louis did not sign up for this. “M’pretty impressed you’re awake already to be honest!” Harry grins at him, but it’s cheeky rather than mocking. 

“Uh… I, er…” Oh wow. Louis’ eloquence knows no bounds. 

Harry raises his eyebrows. 

“Oh he’s seen worse days, let me tell you,” says Eleanor, before pinching Louis firmly in the side. “Now stop being rude and offer your guest some breakfast!”

Seriously, Louis is _still_ staring. 

This staring thing is becoming a problem. Maybe he should see someone about it. Maybe he should bring it up with Dr Corden at their next session. He can feel his cheeks flushing under the collective gaze of Eleanor and Curly Harry, and if the floor could just go ahead and swallow him right about now that would be fab. 

“Er…I’m just…I have to…bathroom” Louis just about manages to stutter before he bangs his mug down, cringing at the noise, and pushes past Harry, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away from the kitchen and the shame. 

In the bathroom, Louis splashes water on his face and stares at his own reflection. He looks a mess. He has bags under his eyes, and stubble on his chin, which he can’t be bothered to attend to. He groans. 

As he brushes his teeth, with far more aggression than is necessary, he considers his current situation. He could hide out in the bathroom forever, or at least until this Harry guy leaves, but considering Eleanor evidently invited him to stay over last night who knows when that will be. Maybe he’ll stay here forever, and Louis will just have to live in this bathroom, and if people want to piss they can bloody well go to the café across the road. 

Louis decides he needs to calm down. Six months ago he would have just laughed this off. Old Louis would have made some witty self-deprecating remark, before flirting outrageously with Harry. No, scrap that. Old Louis would never have got himself into this position. Old Louis would have come home from the pub when Zayn and Ed did, or would have persuaded them to join him at the club, instead of going there alone, like a drunken weirdo. New Louis is a drunken weirdo. 

New Louis locks himself in his own bathroom. New Louis is aware that Harry, being stupidly gorgeous, is by default out of Louis’ league. Old Louis would have been blithely unaware of this and would have most likely made out with Harry instead of throwing up on him. 

New Louis loathes himself.

***

Well this is awkward.

Harry has never seen someone react to his presence with such abject terror. He knows he doesn’t look his best first thing in the morning, but the way Louis had been staring at him, you’d have thought he had some rare and tropical disease. 

So now Harry finds himself sat on the sofa he slept on last night, making small talk with Eleanor over toast, neither of them commenting on the fact that Louis has been upstairs for over half an hour. 

Harry really should just leave. He knows he should, and quite frankly, although Eleanor is being very polite, she must be thinking the same thing. He almost hadn’t stayed last night, when she had offered, but it was late, and the tubes were closed and a taxi back to his at that time of night would have cost a small fortune. But more than that, something about what Louis had said in the taxi had stuck with Harry. The way Louis had clung to Harry so desperately, and how he had kept mumbling about how he didn’t want it – whatever _it_ was – to happen again. At points he had seemed terrified, and then he would stare up at Harry, with wide, wet, electric blue eyes, and look somehow ashamed. Harry had held him closer then, confused by this poor boy who obviously was not OK. He had been struck by an overwhelming urge to help him, no matter what it took, because something in him was sickeningly familiar to Harry.

From the moment he had noticed Louis, stumbling slightly, being led away from the bar and into the toilets by that letch Giles, who Harry himself has had to ward off on more than one occasion, he couldn’t help but be worried about the poor boy. Eventually concern had won out over decorum, and thank god it had, because when Harry walked into those toilets, and saw Louis being pressed up against the wall, panic written plain on his face, he had had to use all his mental strength to restrain himself from punching Giles in the face. He would have done as well, if he hadn’t rushed to catch Louis as he fell to the cold, wet floor.

So Harry is still here now, worrying desperately about a man he met less than twelve hours ago. 

It’s just gone midday when Louis appears in the living room, hair wet from the shower, sweat pants slung low over his slender hips and a sheepish look on his face. He is gorgeous, Harry thinks, before shaking off the thought. Louis seems as though he can’t quite bring himself to look Harry in the eye as he flops down next to Eleanor on the opposite sofa, but his mumbled “thanks for last night mate” doesn’t go unnoticed. 

Harry sends him a small smile, desperate not to scare him off again. He really wants to tell Louis there is no need to be embarrassed but doesn’t know how. He settles for,

“So, m’I gonna have to look out for you every time you’re in SoYoHo then?” 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth he regrets them. Louis winces slightly, looking down at his lap. Harry internally kicks himself. Of all the things, why did he have to say that? After a few seconds, in which Harry half expects Louis to run off to the bathroom again, he answers.

“Nope,” he shakes his head, eyes downcast. “Don’t think I’m going to go back there for a while. Pretty sure they wouldn’t let me in even if I tried.” 

“Oh, I don’t know. They let in all sorts there!” Harry teases softly, trying to lighten the mood. “And I can’t imagine they’d ever turn away a cute guy like you.”

Shit. Harry is flirting. Awfully. He’s not supposed to be flirting. He’s here because he’s worried about the guy, not because he fancies him. Another internal kick.

Louis bites his lip, a tiny frown ghosting across his face, and doesn’t say anything. 

Ok, definitely no more flirting.

After a moment’s pause, which just borders on this side of uncomfortable, Eleanor turns her attention back to Harry.

“So you were saying you’re studying photography, Harry?” she says, voice artificially breezy. Harry doesn’t miss her worried glance towards Louis. 

“Er, not actually studying anymore. I mean I did study it, kind of, for a bit. But yeah... now I just, like, work. And take photographs whenever I can,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“Ah cool, so… you didn’t go to uni or anything then?”

“Nope, didn’t really see the point to be honest, considering how much money it is and I would have just done photography anyways. Might as well just take pictures. This way I only have to pay for my camera.” Harry shrugs. It’s his standard response. University hadn't exactly been an option for him at the time, but it's impossible to explain to people so instead he talks about money. Money is something other people can relate to. 

“Fair enough” says Eleanor lightly, “so what do you work in?”

“A bakery.” Harry grins at the surprise on her face. “That’s right. I’m a baker by day, and a photographer by night. Haunter of shitty Soho clubs by later at night.” 

“That’s quite the CV,” Louis mumbles under his breath, the smallest hint of an almost-smirk just about visible. Harry’s surprise at Louis’ words is accompanied by a warm curl in his stomach.

“I like to think so,” he says, smiling softly. Louis nods the tiniest amount, just acknowledging Harry’s response, then goes back to staring at his fingernails, slumped against Eleanor’s side. Harry is maybe a bit mesmerised by him.

Just at that moment, the front door slams and heavy, erratic footsteps are heard on the stairs before a too loud, too cheery voice calls out, 

“Alright crazy mofos? What’s the craic?!” 

Harry wasn’t aware people actually said that in real life.

“Oh for god’s sake Niall! Indoor voices, please,” Louis whines, bringing his hands up to massage his temples. It’s stupidly endearing.

Before Harry has any chance to register what is happening, he finds that he has an unfamiliar face up in his own, all wide toothy grin, and bleach blonde hair.

“Alright mate, I’m Niall Horan, but you can call me Niall. If you buy me a pint you can call me Nialler, but not until then.” Niall sticks his hand out and Harry shakes it, shooting a bemused look to Eleanor who is obviously quite entertained by this turn of events. 

“Harry. Harry Styles. You can call me Hazza but only after you’ve bought me two pints and dinner.” Two can play at this game, Harry thinks.

“I like him” says Niall, clapping Harry’s hand before dropping it and sitting at the other end of the sofa. “So whose lay is he then? Surely not yours Eleanor, or I’ll be having to have some serious words with Max.” She casually flips him off, pulling out her phone. 

“I’m nobody’s lay?” Harry says quickly, keen not to have Louis look anymore embarrassed than he already does. “I just ended up kipping here last night, and I’m now in the process of overstaying my welcome. That’s all. I swear,” he adds for good measure.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry notices Louis’ shoulders visibly relax. Harry reckons how he ended up here is Louis’ story to tell, not his. Niall slaps him on the thigh. 

“Well mate, that calls for a pint I’d say.”

“Does it?” Harry cannot quite see how exactly what he just said calls for a pint.

“Indeed it does. You’re here. I’m here. The Tommo is here. El’s here and not cheating on her boyfriend” – counting on his fingers as though checking off a list - “it’s a Sunday, it’s October, I got laid last night. All good reasons for a pint.”

Harry laughs. Niall’s energy is pretty infectious. And the Tommo? Interesting. 

“Actually I’m not here,” Eleanor says, as she stands and slips her phone into her pocket. “Max just text. He’s done with studying so I’m gonna go round his.”

Niall is unperturbed.

“Ah well, more for us lads then innit! What do you say fellas?” Louis just grunts, and Harry gives a sort of non-committal shrug, unsure how welcome his presence really is. Niall seems to take this as a resounding _yes!_ and claps his hands with a booming “fantastic!” as he makes his way out of the room towards the kitchen. 

Eleanor is also leaving the room, and just as she’s grabbing her coat from the banister outside the living room door, Harry gets up to talk to her. 

“Back in a minute” he says to Louis, who just gives a tiny nod and looks relieved to not have to be in a room alone with Harry. Harry tries not to be offended. 

“Hey, Eleanor,” Harry runs down the stairs and catches her just as she’s opening the front door. She pauses looking at him expectantly. “I just wanted to say, thanks again for letting me stay here last night.” 

That’s kind of it really. He doesn’t know what else to say. He wants to ask her about Louis. Ask if he’ll be OK, but he’s not sure he’s allowed to do that. 

“Oh no Harry, thank _you_! Seriously, like I said last night, I’m so grateful to you for bringing him home safe. And I know he is too even if he doesn’t look it.” Harry shakes his head, as if to say it’s nothing really. “And I know you said no before, but are you sure I can’t reimburse you for the taxi? It can’t have been cheap coming all the way from Soho.”

“No really, I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s the least I can do.” Harry’s not sure why he’s saying that. He’s hardly made of money, and it would be perfectly reasonable to accept Eleanor’s offer. But for some reason he doesn’t. For a sick second he wonders if he wants Louis to be beholden to him. But he quickly shakes off the thought. No, he simply doesn’t want to accept payment for his help. Which is what it would feel like, because at the time he hadn’t even thought about how much money it would cost him, hadn’t even registered the exact fare, had just handed over a twenty and then stuffed the handful of change back into his wallet. His only thoughts had been about Louis.

Eleanor is still standing in the doorway, looking doubtful, so Harry nods reassuringly at her. 

“Honestly. It’s really not a big deal. I’m just glad he’s safe.”

Eleanor looks as if she might say something for a second, but then thinks better of it. Instead she says,

“It is a big deal. You’re a very sweet guy if you don’t see that.”

Harry is slightly taken aback, and for a moment doesn’t know what to say. Luckily Eleanor continues,

“I better get going Harry, but it was lovely to meet you. Hopefully see you around yeah?”

“Yeah, you too.” He smiles at her as she turns away, closing the door behind her.

Back upstairs in the living room, Harry finds Niall, beer already in hand, TV on, splayed out next to Louis, who is looking a little more relaxed. He even sends the faintest hint of a tight-lipped smile Harry’s way, as Harry flops back down on what he is quickly coming to think of as his sofa. 

Harry really should leave. He needs to shower, and he has work tomorrow, and also, he reminds himself, he doesn’t actually know any of these people. 

Niall wordlessly passes Harry a beer from the pack by his feet, and all thoughts of leaving disappear. Maybe he’ll just stay a little longer.

***

Four hours later and Harry still hasn’t left. They had ended up watching the footie, and the three of them are now happily discussing the finer points of the match, all unanimously agreeing that Chelsea suck. Well its sort of the three of them discussing it. Louis is only really discussing it with Niall but he does laugh at Harry’s jokes occasionally, and during the game Harry had caught Louis staring at him a couple of times, which had made Harry smile. He really doesn’t know why.

Soon the conversation shifts to people Harry doesn’t know. But he doesn’t find it rude. It’s endearing actually, how closely connected Louis and Niall’s lives seem to be. Harry learns that Niall supports Derby and is studying Music Tech at university and that he and Louis met both playing for the football team. It sounds like they share a lot of the same friends and Harry wonders what that must be like. He reckons it’s probably really nice. They mention a guy called Liam a lot, and another guy, called Zac, or Zayn maybe? The names just kind of wash over him, as he finds himself enjoying their presence more and more, sitting back and letting Niall’s cheerful Irish lilt entertain him, with Louis throwing in the odd quip or witty remark.

Harry is pleasantly surprised to discover that Louis is actually quite funny. His sarcastic commentary on the football has Harry in stitches on more than one occasion, and Harry reckons he can detect a hint of satisfaction on Louis’ face whenever he makes him laugh. He seems more at ease now, here, with Niall. Although Harry can still see a hint of that look, which had been so sad and so scared in Louis’ eyes last night, and he finds himself wishing he were on the other sofa, with Niall and Louis, and that he could curl in between them, and wrap his arms around Louis’ shoulders, and promise him that he’s going to be OK. 

Ok, wow. Harry definitely should leave soon. It’s nearly five. He says as much, and Louis suddenly sits up sharply, grabbing his phone to check the time. 

“Oh shit,” he mutters, “I have to be at work at five. Damn, I totally lost track of time.” He glares at his phone some more, as though it were to blame for his predicament, and then raises an eyebrow pointedly at Harry. “Thanks for pointing that out. You’re really rather useful you know.”

Harry beams. Louis might as well have just told him he’s won the prize for Best Human Being Ever, the way that he feels a warm, happy glow spreading in his chest. 

Louis starts faffing around, gathering up his keys from the sideboard and rushing to his room to get his shoes. Niall looks at Harry. 

“One more pint mate?” 

“I really should get going actually myself. It’s kind of far back to mine and I need to get ready for work tomorrow and stuff.” He actually needs to update his Tumblr but that sounds weird so he doesn’t say it. “It’s been great hanging out with you guys though. Thanks so much for your hospitality.” 

“Not at all. You’ve been a pleasure mate. Should do this again sometime. You’re on Facebook right?” Niall says cheerily, his attention already turning back to the TV, a fresh beer in his hand. 

“Er… I’m not actually.”

“What?” Niall looks thoroughly confused, as though this is an entirely new concept to him. “Ok well, you know where we live,” he shrugs.

Harry nods and smiles, grateful for the genuine enthusiasm in Niall’s voice, even though he figures they’re probably not likely to meet again any time soon. 

Just as he is standing to leave, Louis appears in the doorway. 

“Right Nialler, I’m off. Try not to burn the house down or anything in my absence.” 

“I’ll try but I can’t make any promises,” says Niall, expression sombre, eyes fixed firmly on the TV. Louis rolls his eyes, and then glances at Harry, eyebrows knitting into a question as he sees Harry slipping his shoes back on. 

“Are you off as well then? Finally had enough of us?” Louis seems to cringe slightly at his own words. 

Harry sends him a reassuring smile. 

“Haha, something like that. Nah, I’ve just got stuff to do. Should be getting back really.”

Louis nods. So this is awkward. 

They both turn at the same time to walk down the stairs, Louis leading the way through the pokey hallway which passes for the entire ground floor of the house, save for a small cloakroom toilet. 

Harry can’t bear the silence between them. 

“So where do you work?” he asks.

“Just at the cinema down the road,” Louis replies dully, opening the door. “I’m an usher and sometimes they even let me work on the tills. It’s pretty challenging stuff. I was head-hunted actually.” His tone is so serious, that it takes a second for Harry to realise that he is joking. When he does, he guffaws loudly and Louis sort of half-smiles back at him.

“Do you mean the Regal Picture Palace on Swan Road? I’ve never been there but I hear it’s nice.”

That sounded like a line. Shit, Harry definitely didn’t mean it to sound like a line.

Louis hesitates, as if he might say something. But then he just shrugs. 

“It’s alright. Would be better if they paid their staff a decent living wage, but that’s life innit.”

They are standing outside on the step now. The same step that Louis threw up on last night, and that Harry helped Eleanor clean up. The Regal is in one direction, the underground station is in the other. 

Harry has so much he wants to say but he has no idea how to say it. 

“Well bye then,” Louis says, not quite meeting Harry’s eye. “And thanks again for last night, I really owe you one.”

“Not at all,” Harry smiles down at the boy in front of him, who suddenly looks painfully small and sad. In that moment, Harry would give anything to make him not sad anymore. Instead he says, “I really enjoyed hanging out this afternoon, and tell Niall thanks for the beer.”

Louis snorts. 

“Yeah…those were _my_ beers. Niall just seems to claim anything that is in the fridge as his own.” 

“Oh…right,” says Harry awkwardly. He can’t tell if Louis is annoyed or just teasing. “Well then I guess, thanks for the beer.” 

“You’re welcome.” Louis smiles all too briefly, and then his face twists slightly as he says, “I really had best be going. I don’t fancy being yelled at today of all days. Don’t think my head could take it.” 

“Of course” Harry nods. He wants to ask for a number or something…anything…

“See you around yeah?” says Louis, expression unreadable, before taking a step back. 

“Sure,” says Harry. He hopes his voice doesn’t betray him. If he could just…

“And thanks again for last night.” Louis voice is small, and his eyes don’t quite meet Harry’s.

“No problem, anytime!” Harry’s brain is racing a mile a minute. Maybe if he…

“Bye Harry,” says Louis.

“Bye Louis,” Harry nods, and with that Louis is turning away, walking down the path and onto the street, hands shoved into his pockets. 

Harry tries to ignore the heaviness in his stomach and begins walking down the path too. Before he has time to consider what he is doing, he stops, takes out his phone and snaps a picture of the house. 

Louis is a good way down the street at this point. From this distance Harry wouldn’t be able to tell it was him, except for the dark grey beanie on his head. Turning away and heading towards the tube is much more effort than it should be.

That evening, back home in his own little flat, Harry updates his Tumblr. He adds a picture he took yesterday evening, before he met Louis, of a bouncer in Soho, and another of the Saturday night crowds on Shaftesbury Avenue. And then another. A picture of Louis’ house. 25 Rowntree Avenue. He figures it’s not creepy because Louis will never see it, and the door number is partially hidden, so it really just looks like one of his usual artsy photos of architecture. 

Underneath the photo he types out a caption: _The home of the blue-eyed boy_.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been all of three days since Louis met Harry and he is resolutely not thinking about Harry at all. He has not thought about him once. 

Not once. 

Louis is sat behind the box office desk at work, head buried in his phone, ready to stare down any customer who dares to come in and disturb his solitude. He is not in a good mood. But then he hasn’t been in a good mood for six months now so that’s really nothing new. 

At the sound of the sliding doors to the foyer opening, Louis snaps his head up.

“God man, what did I ever do to you?” says Zayn, stamping his feet on the mat and holding his hands up in mock surrender. Louis tries to school his face into something less menacing. 

“I thought you were a customer,” he huffs, going back to staring at his phone. 

“Only the finest customer service at the Regal Picture Palace, evidently,” Zayn mumbles, coming behind the desk to sign on for his shift. Louis and Zayn generally have their shifts together, which is no accident. 

For the first couple of months that Zayn had worked at the Regal, Louis had only ever run into him occasionally, in staff meetings and handovers. Then one evening, about two months ago, Zayn had filled in for Hattie, and he and Louis had hit it off like a house on fire. They had snuck out the back for a cigarette break, and exchanged jibes over everyone’s most hated customer, Ted “the Toad” Nilson, and within five minutes Louis knew that Zayn was someone who he planned to keep in his life for a very long time. They had gone together to Nick’s office the next morning and insisted that all their shifts be timetabled together from now on or else they would both quit. Nick had simply shaken his head, exasperated and a little amused, eyes flitting between the two of them knowingly, before agreeing. Louis thinks that Nick thinks that he and Zayn are fucking. Zayn agrees.

The best thing about hanging out with Zayn is that he doesn’t know about… well, he hasn’t known Louis all that long so he doesn’t really pity him like the others do. Zayn has no idea how changed Louis has become, so _he_ doesn’t continuously cast worried glances at him, or tiptoe around certain topics like a parent around a small child, or cock his head and purse his lips when Louis says something self-deprecating. Zayn just laughs fondly at Louis, agreeing with him and ruffling his hair, and Louis loves him for it. 

“Ah mate, kill me,” mutters Zayn, staring up at the timesheets on the wall. “I was thinking its Tuesday but its Wednesday innit?”

“Yep,” Louis grimaces. His and Zayn’s usual Tuesday morning shift has been switched to Wednesday on the basis that Ian is undergoing root canal surgery this morning. Louis feels a bit like a martyr. Wednesday morning is Tots Screen, which means tiny little toddlers, who are way too young to be at the cinema, and who have no understanding of popcorn as something which is to be eaten not thrown on the floor, screaming the whole house down.

“Bagsy not cleaning the auditorium,” Zayn says at lightning speed. 

“Soz mate, I already bagsied it.” Louis shrugs, a look of faux innocence on his face. 

“How exactly did you bagsy it? I’ve just arrived,” Zayn asks incredulously.

Louis simply nods his head in the direction of the board. Just below the timesheets, in black marker pen are the words: 

_Dear Zayn Malik, Bagsy not cleaning the auditorium, yours sincerely Louis Tomlinson_. 

Beside it, he has drawn a smiley face for good measure.

“You’re a dick” Zayn grumbles, “and that’s not even a valid bagsy.”

“I beg to differ.”

“You can’t bagsy something if there is nobody else around.” Zayn is wearing his exasperated-at-Louis expression. Louis likes that Zayn has an expression especially for him.

“Well I think you’ll find that I clearly stated your name and mine in the written statement of my bagsy claim. Within the written statement there are, therefore, two parties present, and as such…”

Louis is all set to go into full Legally Blonde mode, when suddenly something catches his eye and stops him dead in his tracks. 

“Really?” asks Zayn, “that’s all you’ve got? You’ve got _nothing_ on me. I’m not clearing out the screen.”

When Louis doesn’t retaliate Zayn’s eyes narrow suspiciously before he follows Louis’ gaze towards the door. 

Oh god. Louis is so not prepared for this. 

“Louis, are you OK? What are you…”

Zayn’s words trail off, or at least Louis’ brain stops registering them, as the foyer doors slide open and in steps none other than Harry. Curly Harry. Louis’ Harry. Well not Louis’ Harry, far from it, but definitely the Harry who Louis has spent every waking minute since Sunday not thinking about. He looks positively edible, in black skinny jeans, and a loose white shirt under an oversized plaid one. 

Zayn is still looking at Louis, slightly confused, but he quickly whips his head around to politely half-smile at Harry across the counter. 

“Hi, can I help you?” he says dully. Enthusiastic customer care will never be one of Zayn’s strongest qualities. Another reason he and Louis get on so well. 

“Erm, hi…er,” Harry approaches the desk, coughing slightly and darting his hand up to quickly adjust the green cloth headband nestled in his curls. Sweet jesus, a headband was never part of the deal, Louis thinks helplessly. Harry is at the counter now, one hand resting casually on the desk. He turns to Louis as if he’s only just spotted him. 

“Hi Louis,” Harry says lightly. “How’s it going?” 

Zayn turns to Louis, eyebrows raised in a question. 

“Er, hi Harry?” Louis phrases it as a question because, huh? Just how, why, what, when, huh?

Harry’s expression falters for a nano-second before he continues, 

“How are you? Hope you’re feeling better after the weekend.” If Louis didn’t know better he would say Harry looks almost nervous. 

“Yeah, I’m fine now thanks.” Louis struggles to keep his voice steady. He doesn’t ask Harry how he is doing. Harry must think he’s awfully rude.

“Glad to hear it!” Harry smiles so brightly that Louis almost wants to blink to make sure he’s real. 

“Did you want to see a film?” He asks it politely but, dear god, he is being rude. Why is he being so rude? This is horrible in every possible way. 

“Er…” Harry hesitates for a moment before looking up at the screen behind Louis’ head, reading the film times displayed there. As he tilts his head back, Louis is struck by the sweeping curve of his lips, which are startlingly pink and slightly chapped from the autumn wind. 

“Er, what’s La Traviata?” Harry asks, eyes coming back down to find Louis’ own. “I haven’t heard of it. Is it a new one?”

Louis seems to lose the ability to speak for just a second too long. Zayn steps in.

“That one’s not a film, it’s an opera. We do live screenings of operas every so often. I think this one is from the Met in New York.” 

“An opera?” says Harry conversationally, “I didn’t know you showed operas. What’s it about?”

Louis scrolls through the synopsis on the computer screen in front of him, determined to be a semi-professional human being for once in his life.

“Erm. It’s about a courtesan”, he begins, “like a prostitute…er”, he squints at the screen, which is difficult to read without his glasses, scrolling quickly through to try and find relevant plot points. “Jilted lover…” scroll, scroll, “betrayal blah blah blah…” Louis doesn’t remember ever having been this flustered before. “Er…pretty much her life is really sad and things don’t end so well. Basically it’s about a hooker... I think? Have no idea if it’s any good,” he adds lamely. 

He looks up from the screen just in time to catch the ghost of something dark in Harry’s expression. He is silent for a few seconds, as he looks intently up at the film times again before turning to Louis, smile firmly back in place, saying brightly,

“Not sure opera is my thing. What would you recommend, Louis?”

God the way he says Louis. Its kind of velvety and soft and so not OK.

“Er, the new Dicaprio movie is meant to be good. Or, er….” To be honest Louis hasn’t seen any of the films they have on at the moment, the novelty of free cinema tickets long replaced by absolute horror at the idea of spending any of his precious free time at his place of work.

“I love Leonardo Dicaprio! Titanic is a classic.” Harry positively beams. 

“Ok. Er…” Louis does some more scrolling, “there is a showing at 6pm this evening if you want?” 

“Yeah that sounds good.” Harry smiles politely at Louis but something about him seems suddenly deflated. Zayn is still hovering nearby, a slight frown in place, which annoys Louis intensely as he sets about putting through the transaction for Harry’s ticket at the till. 

“Just the one ticket?”

“Er… yeah.” Just as Harry is about to hand over the money to Louis he suddenly stops, holding his cash lamely in mid-air.

“I don’t suppose you’d wanna come see it with me would you? My treat?” Harry stumbles over the words so hurriedly that it takes Louis a second to process what he has said. He blinks at him, at a loss for how to respond, until finally he feels Zayn kick him below the counter.

“Oh. I’m sorry Harry, I have plans tonight,” he mumbles. As he takes the money from Harry he can feel two sets of eyes on him. His cheeks burn as he hands over the money and feels Zayn kick him again. Harry looks utterly deflated now, his smile small and polite. 

“Never mind. Next time perhaps?” 

Louis doesn’t say anything and Harry hesitates, before throwing a courteous glance Zayn’s way and saying his goodbyes. Still Louis doesn’t say anything. He feels as though his heart is in his throat.

In lieu of Louis, Zayn waves a hesitant goodbye. As soon as the sliding doors are firmly shut, Harry’s retreating figure just visible through the glass, Zayn rounds on Louis. 

“You gonna explain what that was about?” he asks, looking utterly bemused.

“What do you mean?” Louis feels terribly hot all of a sudden and like he really needs a cigarette. 

“Well you just had a ridiculously hot guy just be really sweet to you, smiling at you as though the sun shines out of your arse, and he asks you on a date and you turn him down…?” Zayn seems almost personally offended.

Louis sort of wants to cry. But Zayn doesn’t know. He won’t get it.

“Well I’m not free this evening am I? Got plans with you and Ed, unless you had forgotten.” Louis’ attempt to be light-hearted comes out snappy. 

“That’s not until nine! And it’s only me and Ed. How do you know him anyways?” Zayn presses on, “I assume you know each other, he knew your name.”

“We met in a club on Saturday night, that’s all.” Zayn continues to stare at Louis so Louis adds, “nothing happened.”

“OK…” Zayn remains unconvinced. “Saturday?”

Louis sighs. “Let’s go for a quick cig before the kids arrive, and I’ll explain. Not that there is anything to it really.”

They grab their jackets and sneak out the fire exit, leaving the door slightly ajar to keep an eye out, in the event that Nick should decide to emerge from his office and berate them for leaving the box office unattended. 

Louis explains, in a rather mumbly, half-hearted way, that Harry had found him slightly worse for wear and so had taken him back home, and had ended up sleeping on the couch at El’s invitation and then hanging out a bit the next day. He doesn’t mention throwing up on the doorstep, he doesn’t mention his mini-freakout in the kitchen, and he doesn’t mention that Harry stayed until five in the afternoon. 

Zayn looks even more confused than before Louis began telling the story.

“But, hang on. I thought you went home the same time as me and Ed?”

“Yeah well, I decided just to go for one more drink. I got a message from a guy on Tinder so thought I might as well. But he didn’t show.” Louis hates lying to Zayn, but he figures it’s better than Zayn realising that he is actually just someone who randomly goes to sleazy bars on his own.

“Ok, so this Harry guy. From the sounds of it, he’s really nice?” Zayn takes a drag of his cigarette, brows furrowed in thought. “I mean, he didn’t have to take you home.”

“Yeah, he seems nice.” Louis shrugs. He can’t even begin to explain to Zayn how much nice doesn’t cut it. Harry seems lovely, kind, warm, angelic, breathtaking.

But yeah, lets go with nice. 

“So, he’s nice. He’s interested. He’s unfairly good-looking. I don’t see how you managed to turn him down. If you don’t want him I’ll have him.”

A tiny pinprick of possessiveness flares up in him at Zayn’s words. Louis can’t have Harry. He knows that. He’s not stupid. But he doesn’t think he could take it if Zayn got to have him. But then, Louis thinks, at least then Harry would have someone worthy of him. Or maybe Zayn is too good for Harry. After all Louis doesn’t really know him at all. He could turn out to be a real jerk underneath all the charm. Louis doubts it, but it’s an idea he’s going to cling onto now that it’s occurred. Self-preservation and all that.

“Oi”, Zayn nudges his foot against Louis’. It’s gentle though and when Louis looks into Zayn’s eyes he sees concern there. “I said, I was only joking, it’s none of my business who you do or don’t want to date.” 

Louis blinks. He must have zoned out. According to Liam that’s a thing he does a lot these days. But thank god, Zayn isn’t going to pry. Louis smiles at him. It’s probably the most genuine smile he’s managed all week. 

“You know, man,” Zayn continues, “if you ever want to talk to me, I’m here to listen. I’ve got your back bro.”

Nope. No. Just no. Louis is not having Zayn be another person who worries about him and coddles him. It wouldn’t be fair to Zayn. Being a burden to Niall, Liam and El is already three people too many. 

“You know what, you’re going soft mate,” Louis slaps Zayn playfully on the back. “And soft just won’t cut it with the tiny terrors we’re about to face.”

“Oh god, don’t remind me.” They stamp out their cigarette butts before bracing themselves and heading back in. 

The toddlers are horrible, really terrible, positively icky. Louis vaguely recalls a time when he actually enjoyed them. He used to think they were cute. He used to imagine having kids one day himself. Not so much now, all things considered.

After the flurry of wailing children and weary looking mothers has mercifully disappeared into the screen, Louis returns to his phone. 

Zayn grabs a broom to clear up the popcorn that didn’t even manage to make it into screen. He suddenly pauses, leaning lazily against his broom and eyes Louis. 

“Can I help you?” Louis huffs after a moment.

“Does he live around here?”

“Huh?”

“Does he live around here, or did you tell him you work here?”

Louis could ask whom precisely Zayn is referring to. But they both know that they both know so…

“I guess yeah, I told him. He doesn’t live round here ‘cause he had to get the tube back on Sunday.” Louis tries to look nonchalant about the whole thing. He doubts that he succeeds. He knows what Zayn’s going to say and he doesn’t want to hear it, because Zayn’s got it all wrong.

“So he came here, basically, specifically because he knew you would be here?”

“More like, when I told him I worked here he said he had always been meaning to visit the place and never got round to it. So it could just be that I reminded him he wanted to come. Anyway, this is boring, why do you care so much?” Louis knows he is being a tad harsh on Zayn, but really he just doesn’t want to think about Harry anymore. Ever.

Zayn still looks confused but he shrugs and goes back to sweeping. Louis can’t blame him really. Louis is confusing, he knows that. He confuses himself. But to begin to even try to explain would be worse. Confusion is better. 

Thankfully Zayn doesn’t bring up Harry again for the rest of their shift. They mess around, chucking popcorn into each other’s mouths from across the desk, and serving the few customers who grace their presence, mostly pensioners asking after tickets for La Traviata that evening. Louis resolutely doesn’t think about Harry. 

At the end of the shift, just as Louis is getting his jacket from the cupboard that is supposedly the staff cloakroom, Hattie arrives to take over from him for her shift. She is a sweet girl, if a bit goody-two-shoes for Louis’ liking. They exchange pleasantries, and Louis is all set to leave, in fact is heading towards the sliding doors when she calls out to him.

“Oh Louis, wait I forgot. There was a guy in here on my shift yesterday who was asking after you.”

Louis freezes. He is suddenly very aware of his heartbeat which seems to be somewhere around his ears. 

“He was kind of tall, curly brown hair, very cute, er…” Hattie’s smile falters, at the sight of Louis’ expression. 

After an awkward pause in which Louis neither says anything nor moves, Hattie continues hesitantly,

“Is he an ex or something? I can tell him to bugger off if he comes back. I told him you were working today because he seemed friendly, but I’m sorry if that was the wrong thing to do.” She looks really rather worried now. 

Louis shakes his head in an attempt to return his mind to some kind of state resembling normality.

“It’s ok, thanks for letting me know Hattie. Have a good evening yeah?” He’s heading towards the door, but stops once again when she says,

“So what should I tell him if he asks again?” 

Louis feels so sad, so terribly sad. In that moment, standing there staring at Hattie across the foyer, he feels miles and miles away from her. From everything. Her question is a perfectly normal one, mundane in fact. But it is painful because she doesn’t get it. She doesn’t know anything. How could she? She’s only Hattie. She’s not Louis, lucky for her. She sees someone like Harry, and she thinks that there is even a possibility that he might come back and ask again for someone like Louis. How different her world must be.

“He won’t,” Louis offers quietly, before sending her a small smile, which he hopes is enough to hide the swell of misery rising within him, and he turns to head out the door. 

Outside the air is brisk, and even though it is early afternoon it feels like evening. Louis can feel the first tiny hints of winter drawing in, as he heads up the road towards his house, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. 

At least Zayn wasn’t there to witness that, Louis thinks, attempting to comfort himself. Thank god for messy toddlers and the laws of bagsy. He repeats this mantra to himself all the way home, until the words become distorted in his mind. _Thank god for messy toddlers and the laws of bagsy. Thank god for messy toddlers and the laws of bagsy_. Any random nonsense to try and drown out his internal screaming. 

***

So that didn’t go as planned, Harry thinks to himself for the millionth time that day, as he reluctantly shows up outside the Regal at quarter to six. He berates himself for showing up so early as now he has to stand around for a quarter of an hour looking as though he’s been stood-up. He wouldn’t usually mind, it’s not as if he isn’t used to doing things on his own, but the girl from yesterday is staring at him curiously through the glass doors, from behind the counter, and being back here is a very real reminder of his earlier embarrassment. 

God it had been embarrassing! Harry doesn’t normally embarrass easily, but there was something about Louis’ indifference this morning which had made Harry feel really dumb. It was as if none of Sunday afternoon had even happened. Harry had thought, maybe, just maybe, Louis had warmed to him, and he had hoped that if he could just get to spend some more time with Louis, he might begin to unravel the fascinating blue-eyed boy who has been all Harry can think about for the past three days. 

But apparently he was wrong. He had hoped that maybe Louis wouldn’t be as fit as he remembered him. He had hoped in vain. Louis was fitter. In fact, not fit, beautiful. Beautiful and unreadable and distant. Harry is never lost for words, and yet seeing Louis stood on the other side of that counter, fringe swept into feathery perfection, eyes glassy blue and piercing, he had felt like he was fifteen again. 

Ten to six. Harry could just go in and take his seat. But he decides he prefers to stand outside, watching the evening drawing in, than sit alone in a dark cinema, surrounded by not-alone people. 

This is stupid. So what if Louis isn’t interested. Harry has never let rejection get to him before. Not that he’s ever really experienced it before. But whatever, Harry can handle rejection. 

The thing is though, that this didn’t even feel like rejection. It felt like total indifference. Like Louis didn’t even register or consider what Harry was asking him. He didn’t look abashed or apologetic, like people sometimes do in movies. He just said no. Simple.

Five to six. Harry reminds himself that there will be a whole load of trailers. The movie probably won’t start for another half hour. He doesn’t have to go in yet. He doesn’t have to go in at all. He could call Ed, see if he’s free. 

He is shaken out of his thoughts when he spots a homeless guy setting up camp for the night on the other side of the street. The guy is accompanied by a scruffy mutt of a dog, a green rucksack and a battered sleeping bag, which he is carefully laying out in the doorway of an Asian takeaway place. From a distance, he looks a few years older than Harry, but living on the streets tends to age a person so Harry figures they are probably about the same age. He squints his eyes, trying to see if he recognises the guy’s face. He decides that he doesn’t. He pushes himself off the post he had been leaning against, and looks both ways before stepping out into the road. 

As he passes the guy in the doorway, he gives him a small nod, which the guy returns politely. Inside the takeaway place he orders noodles with pork, egg fried rice, dumplings, spring rolls, and every filling thing he can think of. He buys a can of coke and a bottle of water as well, emptying his pockets of change, before requesting any leftover bones from the kitchen. The woman behind the counter looks somewhat surprised at that last request, but goes into the kitchen and emerges a few moments later with a brown paper bag, grease-stains beginning to seep through. Harry thanks her, and says good evening, before nudging the door open awkwardly with his foot, his takeaway boxes balanced precariously in his arms. 

Once outside he turns towards the homeless guy, now sat in the doorway with his dog wrapped up in his arms, mumbling softly into its shaggy black ear. After a few seconds, the man looks up warily at Harry, a frown furrowing his brow, a hint of fear in the slump of his shoulders. Harry recognises it. The distrust and the fear of being humiliated. Gently, he crouches down until he is on a level with the man, and holds out the takeaway boxes.

“I think I ordered more than I need. Do you reckon you could take some of these off of my hands?” Harry asks, voice light and easy. 

The man looks perplexed for a second, before eyeing up the boxes in Harry’s hands, desire plain on his face. When he doesn’t say anything Harry continues,

“Seriously mate, if you could just take a few of these because they are kind of hot and my arms are about to burn.” Harry grins at him, to let him know he’s not actually annoyed.

“These are for me?” the guy asks, his tone hopeful and incredulous all at once. 

“If you want them, go ahead. I’m not really hungry now anyway.” Harry can see the guy more clearly now, his face strangely lit by the florescent lights of the takeaway place and the dull October twilight. Harry reckons he was right, this guy can’t be more than twenty-one, maybe twenty-two. 

“What’s your name?” Harry asks.

“Brendan, but everyone calls me Bren,” Bren says, holding out a mucky hand for Harry to shake. 

Harry smiles, putting down the boxes and the brown paper bag, and clasps Bren’s hand firmly in his.

“I’m Harry. Everyone calls me Harry.” Bren guffaws at that, letting Harry’s hand go and turning to his dog. 

“You hear that Gemma, he’s called Harry but everyone calls him Harry!” 

Harry smiles more at Bren’s amusement than his own joke, which he reckons was pretty poor as far as jokes go, but was worth it to see the look of absolute glee on this young guy’s face. Harry wonders when the last time someone asked him his name was. Or told him theirs.

“Gemma, what a lovely name,” says Harry wistfully, more to himself than anyone, before turning to scratch the dog behind her ears. “Hi Gemma, aren’t you just gorgeous.” 

Bren seems to have gotten over the hilarity of Harry’s introduction and is regarding him cautiously again.

“So, can I really have some of these boxes?” he asks nervously, as if he thinks Harry might have been taunting him before. Harry’s sympathy sits heavy in his stomach like a stone. 

“You can have them all. I even got something for Gemma,” he points to the brown paper bag, which she is already sniffing at eagerly. “Do you mind if I take a picture of her? I’m a photographer.”

When Bren agrees, Harry whips his phone out of his back pocket and takes a quick photo. Gemma’s gleaming black eye catches his own reflection and Bren’s calloused hand, rested around her neck, looks rough against her soft black fur. 

“Cheers for that. I had best be going Bren, but it was lovely to meet you.”

Harry stands up again, tucking his phone away and trying to stretch out the slight ache in his back from crouching. He holds out his hand again, smiling warmly at Bren, who reaches up to take it.

“Take care. You’re a good bloke, you are,” says Bren gruffly. His voice is rough but his eyes are so young.

“You too Bren. And Gemma.”

Harry smiles and waves before turning back towards the Regal. It’s ten past six and he hasn’t text Ed, so he figures he might as well watch the film that he’s paid for. 

He’s just about to step off the curb when he catches sight of a familiar face across the road from him, with bright blue eyes and lips pulled tight shut, expression unreadable. 

Louis. 

Harry can’t quite believe it’s him. He steps into the middle of the road only to be narrowly missed by a passing truck which honks loudly at him. He jumps back, flustered and heart pounding. When the lorry has passed he searches once again for Louis, and for one terrible second he thinks he has gone, but then he spots him again, now leaning under a lamp post, looking down at his shoes.

Harry approaches him slowly, as though afraid he might startle and run away, just like a baby deer. He can’t help but notice how amazing Louis looks. His hair is doing a sweepy flicky thing, which Harry just wants to run his hands through, and he’s wearing skinny black jeans and a black hoody. His arms are folded through the front pocket, resting across his stomach defensively. He looks up cautiously as Harry approaches, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Louis. You made it!” Harry can feel his face ginning like a maniac but there is not much he can do about it. He’s so happy to see Louis. It’s pretty pathetic but that’s Harry.

Louis clears his throat and frowns his response.

“Yeah, well actually my plans fell through and I have been meaning to go and see this film so…” He trails off, looking almost apologetic. 

“Well, I’m so glad you’ve come. I wasn’t really feeling the whole cinema-ticket-for-one-thing anyway!” 

Louis smiles then. It’s small and sort of embarrassed and its over before its properly begun, but god Harry will take it. He’ll take it any day. He just made Louis smile and made the tiniest crinkles appear around his eyes. Louis is so much more breathtaking than Harry had realised at the weekend. He had been so busy worrying about getting Louis home, and the things Louis had mumbled to him in the taxi, that he hardly took in just how beautiful he was. Is. How absolutely strikingly beautiful he is. Oh dear. Harry fears he might be in trouble. 

“Did you know that guy? The one across the road?” Louis waves his hand in the vague direction of the Asian takeaway. He looks mildly perturbed by something. 

“Him? Er… no? I just saw him and figured he could use some food.” Harry shrugs. “How have you been?”

It’s Louis’ turn to shrug now. 

“Fine.” He looks up at Harry, through his long dark eyelashes. Under the light from the street lamp they cast dusty shadows under his eyes. Harry smiles at him warmly.

“Glad to hear it. How are Eleanor and Niall?”

“Fine.” Louis’ eyes are still as sad as Harry remembers them, hauntingly so.

They stand like that, under the orange lamplight for a few seconds, or minutes, or hours, Harry has no concept of time in that moment, until Louis coughs nervously, stepping away from Harry and towards the Regal. 

“We should probably go in. The trailers will be nearly over.” Louis flashes another small almost-smile at Harry and this time it holds a hint of mischief. “And even though its not official company policy, as an employee of this cinema I get unlimited free popcorn.”

Harry follows him through the doors, catching up so that they are shoulder to shoulder, as he is hit by the warmth of the red velvet-clad foyer. 

“What do you mean, its not official company policy?” he hisses conspiratorially as they approach the kiosk, where the girl from yesterday is peering at him, them in fact, even more curiously than before. 

“I mean that no way am I using the pitiful wages they pay me here just to give the money back to them in exchange for over-priced popcorn. You know the mark-up on this stuff is huge right?” Louis looks quite fierce almost, and sounds as if he has spouted off this argument more than once. He quirks his eyebrow, sending a tiny smirk Harry’s way, before turning to the girl behind the counter.

“Popcorn for two please Hattie. On the house.” Louis slaps his hand on the counter with all the dignity of a bartender in the Wild West. 

“Hmmm. I thought I was the one who was supposed to say that. Except I wouldn’t because it is against company policy. You get a staff discount of twenty percent.” 

Louis smiles at her innocently and bats his eyes. His profile is gorgeous, made up of sharp cheekbone and chiselled jaw. Harry really wants to kiss along both. 

He refrains. 

After some grumbling, which Harry thinks is more for show than anything, the girl caves and hands over two buckets of popcorn. 

“Hattie! These are only regular-sized! What kind of man do you take me for?” Louis sounds positively scandalised.

“A cheeky beggar who doesn’t know when to stop pushing his luck.” The girl, Hattie, stares Louis down for a second longer, before grabbing a piece of popcorn from the top of one of the buckets and throwing a wink Harry’s way. “Have fun in the film boys. Leo looks particularly yummy in this one.”

She turns away to serve another customer and Louis grabs the buckets and heads towards the screen, with barely a glance at Harry, who follows him anyway, just a little in awe. He still can’t quite believe that Louis is here. 

***

Louis can’t believe that he is here. He knows he shouldn’t be. He really wasn’t planning on coming but at six o’clock this evening, with absolutely nothing else to do, he was suddenly overcome with the maddening urge to see Harry again. He had grabbed his coat and headed out the door before he even had time to rethink it. Apparently, in a moment of madness, he had thought maybe it _wouldn’t_ be excruciatingly embarrassing and awkward seeing Harry again, who, let’s not forget, Louis has thrown up on. 

He had rethought it though, when he had arrived at the cinema, just in time to see Harry across the road, crouched next to some homeless guy, handing him what looked like the entire menu of the takeaway shop. Louis had definitely rethought it then. Harry was evidently too good a human being for Louis, and it obviously wouldn’t be fair of him to burden Harry with his fucked-up excuse of a life. He had been on the brink of walking away when Harry had seen him.

And now here he is, in a dark cinema auditorium, sitting next to this curly boy, who keeps sneaking glances over at him, and who is warm and smiley and who smells incredible, like vanilla soap and apple pie. Louis doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He can’t concentrate on the film at all. All he can keep thinking is what happens next? What happens after the film ends? What if Harry wants to go and see another film, and another? God, why did he come? This was stupid. 

As the end credits begin rolling, Louis springs up from his seat, desperately glad of the chance to move, trying to shake-off all of his fidgety energy. Harry gets up more slowly, his long legs unfolding beneath him, and sends a satisfied smile Louis’ way. 

“That was sick!” he says enthusiastically. “That bit with the stairs and the car, man, that was so funny!” 

Louis tries to match his enthusiasm, mumbling his agreement. What bit with the car? Wow, Louis really wasn’t paying attention at all. 

They emerge into the foyer once more, blinking at the bright lights. 

“So,” Harry turns to Louis. Oh god. “So…er… do you fancy going for a quick drink at the pub next door? Discuss the finer points of the film?”

Oh god. Louis does, he really does. But he also knows that he can’t and he shouldn’t. He can’t because Harry is lovely and doesn’t deserve a fuck-up like Louis. He can’t because Harry is the sort of person who makes sure random people he doesn’t know get home safely. The sort of person who actually escorts said people home, even when they live on the other side of London. He can’t because Harry is the sort of person who gives whole banquets to homeless people and doesn’t think anything of it. He can’t because Harry is beautiful and Louis thinks if he looks into those hopeful green eyes any longer he might forget how to live without them.

“Yeah, sure,” he offers meekly. Harry smiles so widely then that Louis thinks he might cry. 

They step out into the street. It is now well and truly night time. Just as they are about to turn in the direction of the pub, Louis notices the homeless man from before silhouetted against the bright lights of the doorway. When the guy spots them he raises a hand and waves cheerfully, gesturing to the empty takeaway boxes by his side. Harry waves back and gives him a thumbs up.

No. Nope. No. Louis really can’t do this because Harry is just…

“Actually, shit, I’m sorry I just realised I have to be somewhere I forgot.” Louis mumbles it all in one hurried breath and is already backing away as Harry turns to him, the smile on his face fading fast, disappointment clear in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s not a lie. He is meant to be meeting Zayn and Ed at nine.

“Louis, wait…” Harry begins, but before he can continue, Louis is shaking his head wildly and stepping back. 

“I’m sorry Harry.” He turns away then, picking up speed. He can’t bear to watch Harry standing there on the pavement, arm still half-raised from his thumbs up. He’s the picture of everything Louis isn't allowed. Can’t have. Louis can’t bear to look at him one second longer. 

He forces himself not to run until he is sure he is out of sight of Harry, and then he legs it. Legs it back towards his house, towards the place that he has come to know as home. If he focuses hard enough on running, he can pretend that he doesn’t feel the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, or the bile churning in the pit of his stomach, or the shame echoing inside his head, or the painful beating of his once happy heart.

***

Later that night, Louis finds himself sat between Zayn and Ed, in a crowded pub with too loud music and a faint smell of urine wafting out from the toilets nearby their little table. Even though they are pressed in close to each other, he can’t really hear what either of them are saying above the din and he can’t be bothered to try. He gets the gist of their conversations just enough to nod along in the right places and convince them that he’s listening. Zayn is talking about a new tattoo that he’s planning on getting. Ed is talking about a gig that he’s got coming up and a song which he is struggling to write and a friend of his who is Tumblr famous. Louis can’t bring himself to care about any of it. All he can think about is Harry. 

Harry. Harry. Harry. 

Louis considers how his life must appear to Harry. He has friends sure. Nice friends. Good-looking friends. Cool friends. The sort of friends which make other people look at his life and assume it's fine. And he has a job. A shit job sure, but it’s still fine. There are worse jobs. He is a uni drop-out, but Harry doesn’t know that, and Harry didn’t even go to uni, so that’s fine. He is good-looking. Sort of. Louis doesn’t actually think he’s very good-looking anymore but other people seem to think he is. He isn’t ugly at any rate. So that’s all fine. Maybe to Harry his life doesn’t look so bad. Maybe that’s why Harry thinks Louis is someone who is worth asking to the cinema, and worth going for drinks with. 

And maybe once upon a time he was, but not anymore. Louis is broken. Harry must see that, surely. Everybody sees it. Little kids on the street see it. The barmen in SoYoHo see it. All his friends see it. His mum sees it. Perhaps Harry doesn’t see it yet, but he would, if Louis let him in, it wouldn’t take long for it to become apparent. Even Zayn sees it, Louis thinks sadly to himself, he tries to pretend that he doesn’t but Zayn sees it. They all do. 

Louis is broken, and there is no one who can fix him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised I would warn you so here goes: if you are at all worried about being triggered then you can skip the first section of this chapter (i.e. up to the first set of stars). 
> 
> Happy reading! :)

_Six Months Earlier_

Louis isn’t sure what time it is, but he knows it’s pretty late. He has work tomorrow and he should be getting back home soon, but he can’t bring himself to leave. Not when everyone is having such an amazing night, and the DJ has been blasting out what Louis considers to be quite literally his dream playlist. 

Him and El and Liam have been dancing like nobody’s business for the past ten songs at least, Niall long since disappeared into the smoking area to chat-up a pretty, red-head in too-tight leggings. Louis can feel the eyes of more than one cute guy on him. He looks good tonight. He knows he looks good, in red skinny jeans and a striped t-shirt, and he even got out his old braces tonight, ignoring Liam’s playful taunts that he looked like a 1920s schoolboy. 

“Ah, but a very sexy 1920s schoolboy don’t you think,” he had winked cheekily, as they had headed out towards their favourite night at Club Vida, limbs warmed by the happy buzz of homemade cocktails and the first balmy summer evening of the year. 

“That’s just wrong on so many levels” Liam had teased, nudging Louis playfully.

Louis is pretty certain Liam must agree at least a little, because they have been dancing much more closely than should be appropriate for two people who are just friends. But then, who is Louis to complain. He loves Liam, and Liam loves him, and it’s never been like that between them, it’s always just been playful flirting, something which Louis is very prone to indeed.

He eyes up the cute blonde in the tight blue shirt, who has been leaning against the bar and sneaking glances at Louis for at least the past four songs. Perhaps the cute blonde is really very cute. Perhaps Louis will deem it worth his while to make Blondie’s night. Perhaps. While Louis contemplates this thought he sucks seductively on his straw, happily bopping his hips to Will.I.Am and sending a cheeky wink Blondie’s way. From the blush on Blondie’s face, Louis knows he’s definitely in there. He smiles smugly to himself before turning back to Eleanor, who has just gone crazy as the first few bars of her favourite Rihanna song fill the crowded club. Louis throws his head back, laughing at her gleefully. God he loves her. Blondie can wait. Dancing and friends are definitely the clear winners here.

After a few more songs, Louis can feel his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat and he motions to El and Liam that he is going to get a drink. He heads to the bar, trying to grab the attention of the barman to get some tap water. He doesn’t want any more alcohol, not that he’s even that drunk anyway. He doesn’t need to be. He’s just the right amount of tipsy to totally let himself go on the dance floor, and to flirt outrageously with every cute boy he sees, not giving a damn whether they think he’s hot or not. He knows he is. 

When he finally has his water he leans thankfully against the bar, gulping it down hastily. He catches Liam’s eye from the dance floor, and gives him a wide sloppy grin, just before his view is obscured by a muscular man with dark eyes and thin lips, sliding his body up close to Louis’. The guy is quite good-looking, although there is something about the hunger in his eyes that Louis doesn’t appreciate. He isn’t a piece of meat, thank you very much. 

“Hello princess, how’s it going?” the man leans in to growl in Louis’ ear, his lips just brushing against Louis’ temple. 

“Erm…excuse me. Who do you think you are calling princess?” Louis is in no mood for dealing with some kind of hetero-normative self-loathing gay guy. No thanks.

“I think I’m calling _you_ princess.” The man leans back in, placing one hand on the bar behind Louis, somewhat locking him in place. “Because you’re pretty like a princess and because I think I could show you a good time. I know you want it,” he adds, eyeing Louis darkly. 

Louis stares at him in disbelief. There is something sinister in his smirk, and Louis definitely decides he has had enough of this guy’s total lack of respect for personal space and for Louis in general. 

“Right, well we are just going to have to agree to disagree on that one, so if you don’t mind, I would quite like to get back to my friends.” Louis tries to push past the guy but he suddenly finds a hand on his waist holding him against the bar so forcefully that he can feel it digging sharply into the small of his back. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Louis snaps, anger flaring up inside him. Who on earth does this guy think he is? And then Louis freezes momentarily as he feels the man’s hand on his waist suddenly slide down to grab harshly at the outline of his cock. 

“Listen princess” the guy hisses, “don’t pretend you don’t want it bad. You twinks are all the same. Play hard to get but you’re gagging for it.”

“Fuck you!” Louis loses it now. He slams his glass on the bar before using both hands to push firmly against this great oaf of a man. “Fuck you, you absolute pervert,” he reiterates for good measure, as he slides past the man, throwing him his best disgusted face before stalking off through the crowds to re-join Liam and Eleanor. 

He doesn’t turn back until he reaches them again, and when he looks over at the bar he can no longer see the guy. Good riddance he thinks haughtily. He feels slightly shaken by the whole thing, although more angry than anything. He relays the incident back to Liam and El, shouting to be heard over the pumping music, and they both look appropriately disgusted and angry on Louis’ behalf, which he appreciates. 

He tries to shake off his annoyance, as well as the shudder-inducing feel of the man’s hand on his cock. He dances and he laughs and he flirts with the cute blonde guy, until he gets bored of him, and then he dances some more, and by the time it comes time to leave the club he has pretty much managed to forget all about the creepy man. He has danced until he can no longer feel his feet and he feels happy and so, so loved, and he loves his friends so much he thinks he might burst. 

As they are heading out, Liam motions to Louis and Eleanor to wait outside for him while he goes off in search of Niall, and Eleanor texts Max to see about staying round his. As Louis and Eleanor are waiting on the curb outside the club, Max calls her to say yes, she most definitely should go over to his. Louis winks playfully at her.

“Someone’s getting some tonight!”

“Oh shut up Lou!” Eleanor is beaming though so Louis figures she can’t be too upset by his teasing. “Are you gonna be alright or shall I wait with you until Liam gets back with Niall?” She’s already heading to the row of parked taxis as she asks. Louis laughs.

“God knows how long we’ll be waiting for them knowing Niall. Max might get bored and dump you.” He opens a taxi door for her. “I’m a big boy, I’ll get home just fine. Now you have fun with Max. And be sure to use a condom!” He blows her a quick kiss as she flips him off, and he shuts the door of the cab, smiling to himself. 

As the taxi pulls away, Louis heads back towards the entrance of the club, and just as he is pulling out his packet of cigarettes he gets a text from Liam. 

_Found Niall. Still with girl. Trying to pry him away cos he is far too drunk. Two mins. X_

Louis chuckles to himself, and slips round the corner of the building into a little side alley to enjoy his cigarette in peace, far away from the burly security guards who are currently arguing with some overly drunk partygoers who don’t seem to understand that they have been barred. 

As he finishes his last drag, Louis leans his head against the cool bricks and closes his eyes, just for a second, the music from the club still ringing in his ears, and the traces of his smile still on his face. And then he hears it. 

“Hello princess.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. Louis snaps his eyes open, ready to give this guy some hell, but is stunned into silence when he sees not one but three men stood in front of him. They are standing shoulder to shoulder, only inches away from Louis, blocking him in. He doesn’t know how he didn’t hear them approaching. 

He freezes. 

“You’re right, he is pretty” one of them breathes, his tone menacing. 

“He’s a stuck-up, twinky fag, is what he is,” snaps the guy Louis recognises from the bar. His dark eyes, gleaming brightly under the weak lights spilling from the street into the alley, never leave Louis’ face. 

Louis’ heart begins to race. He is panicking, he can feel it. These three men are big, and there is something about the way they are glaring at Louis now, drinking him in, which makes his blood run cold. 

“Shall we show him what happens to twinks who are bad?” 

“Teach him to shut up and do as he’s told…”

Louis can see the exit of the alley. It’s only a few meters away but right now it feels like a mile. He can’t make a dash for it. He won’t even be able to fight his way out of the cage which they have formed around him. He could scream. He could yell. Will anyone come? Where is Liam? Where is Niall? 

Louis goes to open his mouth. Before he can make a sound he is hit with an almighty searing pain, which begins at his adam’s apple and spreads through his neck and down to his chest. He splutters out a cough, wheezing and dazed, as the man from the bar withdraws his fist, shaking his knuckles at the impact of the punch. Before Louis can register what is happening, he feels another blow to his stomach, the force of it doubling him over, winding him, sending pain and panic rushing through his limbs. Another blow, this one to the jaw, and Louis’ world goes dark. 

He comes round to the distant sound of muffled voices and heavy breathing. He feels numb and his vision is hazy, dark spots pressing in at the corners of his sight. For one taunting second he thinks he has woken up from a nightmare, that he is safe at home in his warm bed, until the stench of piss and the hard, cold, damp of the concrete ground underneath him chill his bones and bring him back to his senses. He nearly passes out again as a fresh wave of pain hits him. His stomach feels as though it has been ripped open, and he tries to curl into himself.

“Give him here…” 

“Fuck you man, what are you doing?”

“Give him here!” 

“Down here! Get him down here…”

The voices around him are frantic, reckless, filled with bile. 

Louis feels himself being roughly dragged along the alley, until he is shoved against a wall, the stale metallic taste of brick in his mouth. He can’t see anything, it’s dark at this end of the alley, far away from the street lights. He can’t move, he can just hear the rough grunts of the men moving around him, and feel the weight of a man pushed up against his back, breathing spit into his ear. 

“Fuck you, you little twink.” Hands are on him now, clawing hands, huge clawing hands, on his arse, on his stomach, on his chest, on his cock. Louis can’t feel his own hands, can’t find them to fight. He can only feel his own breathing, quick and shallow, punctuated with terror. He can feel his rib cage bruising against the cold stone. He feels a hand shoved roughly down the front of his jeans, feels it coming to grab his cock painfully and pull. 

Suddenly, Louis finds his voice. It’s small and raspy and gets stuck in his throat. 

“Stop,” he gasps into the brick, “stop….stop, please.”

“You hear that lads. Princess is playing hard to get.” Laughter, cackling laughter pierces Louis’ brain, echoing around the dead end of the alley. Laughter and then a rough tug around his hips followed by the cold air hitting his arse, followed by the press of a jeans zip and fumbling knuckles up against the small of his back. 

Suddenly all at once, Louis’ fear catches up with him in a burst of fitful anger and panic. He writhes his body wildly, trying to bring his weakened legs up to kick out behind him, and turning his head to shout out desperately into the night. 

“Oh no you don’t princess.” Louis hears the growl in his ear as he feels long clasping fingers press in against his neck, pushing his face into the wall. 

He can feel the scrape of the rough brick grazing his cheekbones as he thrashes uselessly. He can feel the blood on his cheeks mixing with his tears as they begin to pour down his face, silently, all sound choked out of him. The taste of blood and tears and mortar fills his mouth. He can feel flesh, unfamiliar flesh, around his thighs, and fingers digging into his hips, bruising him. And then it happens. A searing burn which feels as though he is being split in two. He whites out then, sinking into the wall, as he feels one thrust, then a second, then a third pounding into him, tearing him apart from the inside out. Somewhere far away he can just about hear the last stragglers leaving the club, calling drunken goodbyes to their friends. 

And then he can hear nothing, but a loud humming in his ears, like white noise, and beyond it, ragged pants and groans, and jeers, which build louder and louder as another thrust and another is hacked into him. He can hear sobbing, and pleading, and he vaguely registers that it is his own voice, his own sobbing which he can hear above the roaring rush of blood in his ears. He doesn’t know how long it lasts. It feels like forever. In that moment nothing else exists but Louis, at the end of a dark alley, surrounded by faceless, nameless bodies, rancid and filled with hate, helpless under an indifferent sky. Louis wonders if he is going to die. 

And then it stops. Just as quickly as it had started, he feels his attacker pull out of him, and the weight holding him against the wall, the many hands pressing him in, are suddenly pulled away. Louis feels himself sinking then, sinking to the ground, crumbling. His arse is burning so painfully that he cannot bring himself to move. He feels split open, gaping and bleeding. His tears hit the ground in waves, washing salt into the blood-splattered concrete. Each breath, and each sob, causes a new wave of pain to sear through his body. 

After a few minutes, in which Louis swings between consciousness and dark, he begins to register a ringing sound like alarm bells going off. Eventually he realises it’s not alarm bells but his phone. It takes every ounce of strength left in him, to twist round and pull his phone out of his pocket, his jeans still hanging half-way down his arse, the fly ripped. With a rush of relief he sees the name flash up on the screen. 

“Liam,” Louis croaks into the phone so quietly that he’s not sure Liam can hear it. 

“Oi Louis, where did you get to man? We’ve been searching everywhere for you. You’ll never guess who I ran into by the way…”

On the other end of the line he can hear Liam’s cheerful voice. It sounds so close in his ear, so familiar and warm, that Louis begins to cry all over again, silent shuddering sobs. 

“Louis?” Liam pauses. “What’s happened?”

And then Louis’ voice returns, his cries pouring out of him, cracked and desperate.

“Liam…” he chokes.

***

It’s Saturday morning, which means two things. Firstly that it is almost a week since Louis met Harry, a week in which Louis has tried and failed miserably to forget all about Harry, and secondly, it is Dr Corden day. 

Saturday mornings used to mean football practise. Louis had managed to charm his way into continuing to play for the uni team long after he had dropped out of his course. He’s a good player, they could hardly say no. But in recent months he has struggled to find the motivation to go and so when Dr Corden had asked if they could change their weekly Friday meetings to Saturday Louis had been glad of the excuse not to go anymore. Niall had been gutted but Louis had told him that it was the only time Dr Corden could do. For all Louis knows it might not even have been a lie. He hadn’t bothered to ask. 

He takes the tube in a kind of daze. He feels tired. He always feels tired, and the hustle and bustle of central London can be pretty overwhelming at the best of times. As he heads up the stairs to Dr Corden’s office he braces himself for another hour of exhausting soul-searching. He really doesn’t feel like talking about himself today.

Half way through their session, in which Louis has been even quieter than normal, Dr Corden peers at him curiously over the top of his glasses. 

“Has something happened this week?” he asks, voice calm and soothing, just the right side of drawling. 

Louis fidgets uncomfortably under his gaze.

“Er…not really?” Louis knows he won’t be allowed to get away with that.

“Louis, I know it’s tough, and I know it’s tiring having to talk about these things, but if you don’t open up to me there isn’t much I can do to help you.”

Louis has heard this before. He knows it’s true. And he does want Dr Corden’s help. He really does. It’s just… He takes a deep breath.

“I met a guy,” he begins hesitantly, playing with the frayed edge of his worn hoody, “well, sort of. I met this guy, who I think asked me out. And I went, but then I freaked out and…” his voice tails off lamely. He can’t explain.

“You met a guy?” Dr Corden need not look quite so surprised, Louis thinks to himself miserably. “Where did you meet this guy?”

“Er…in a club?”

“And he asked you out?”

“Yeah. Well he actually asked me out a few days later.”

“So you gave him your number?”

“No. He knew where I worked so he came into the cinema and asked if I wanted to see a film with him. At first I said no, but then I decided to go, but then afterwards he wanted to go for a drink and I just couldn’t.”

“Why couldn’t you?” Dr Corden’s tone is steady, and his eyes look understanding, but surely he must be mocking Louis. He must know the answer.

“Because…” Louis shrugs and folds his arms across his chest, retreating into himself. 

“Do you like him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe…” Yes.

“Why couldn’t you go for a drink with him?” Dr Corden repeats his question so patiently that it sounds like it’s the first time he’s asking. 

“I don’t think I can have him,” Louis almost whispers. “He’s too good for me. He’s really nice and… normal,” he finishes lamely.

“Why does that make him too good for you?” Louis doesn’t answer so after a few moments Dr Corden pushes on. “Do you think that maybe this guy… what’s his name?”

“Harry” Louis mumbles.

“Do you think that maybe Harry doesn’t see it that way?”

Louis shrugs. He feels Dr Corden is missing the point.

“For all you know, Harry could think that you’re too good for him.”

Louis snorts at that. 

“Why do you laugh?”

Louis shrugs again. His shoulders are going to start aching soon with the amount of shrugging he has been doing recently. 

“Louis, are you scared of Harry?”

Louis starts at that. Of course he’s not. Harry isn’t scary. He’s the total opposite of scary. He shakes his head.

“But you’re scared of something.” It doesn’t sound like a question so Louis doesn’t reply. However when Dr Corden remains silent for longer than is comfortable he realises he is expected to speak.

“I think… I think maybe I am scared that he will realise what a fuck-up I am, and I… I don’t know if I could cope.”

Dr Corden peers calmly over his glasses.

“But Louis, do you really think anybody other than yourself thinks you are a fuck-up?”

“How can they not?” Louis asks desperately. He honestly really would like to know.

“You’re not a fuck-up Louis, far from it. You have suffered a great deal of trauma, a great wrongdoing, and you are now internalising that trauma as though it is somehow a sign of something wrong within yourself. But it isn’t.”

Louis doesn’t know what to say. Maybe Dr Corden is right to a certain extent. Maybe Louis was really fine at first after the rape. Well not fine. He was shell-shocked, and bruised, and plagued with fitful nightmares, from which he would wake up screaming and shaking, but he was still himself underneath all the pain. It’s only in the past couple of months that Louis has really lost himself. The nightmares have become less frequent and the memory of the attack doesn’t send Louis into fits of terror anymore. Instead he feels dull all the time, his Harry-related freak-outs this week aside, and he drinks a lot. He laughs when his friends tell jokes and he even manages to appear vaguely like his old self at times, but he can’t quite remember what it ever felt like to be happy. 

So maybe it wasn’t a sign of something wrong with him at the time. But there is something wrong with him now. 

Throughout this whole thought process Dr Corden has been watching Louis intently. 

“Louis, I want you to think carefully about what we have talked about in previous sessions, and ask yourself why exactly you didn’t want to go for a drink with Harry. Was it something about Harry specifically? Or do you think you would feel the same about anyone?”

“I think…” Louis considers the question carefully. It’s definitely not Harry. Harry is wonderful. But then Louis thinks that’s part of the problem. “I think, well, I don’t know, but I figure maybe I would feel this way with anyone.” Because you’re not good enough for anyone, says a little voice inside his head. 

“You haven’t been involved with anyone since the attack,” Dr Corden knows this so Louis doesn’t respond. “Does the prospect of perhaps having to have sex worry you?”

They haven’t talked about this yet. Every time Dr Corden has even got close to the topic Louis has clammed up to the point where he refuses to answer any questions at all. He’s impressed at Dr Corden’s perseverance quite frankly. 

Louis surprises himself this time though when he nods. 

Dr Corden’s eyes are kind.

“And you have never had sex before?”

Louis is confused by that question. He had never had sex before the rape, that’s true. He wasn’t a completely inexperienced novice in the sex department though. He had given and received his fair share of blowjobs and he could flirt with the best of them, but he hadn’t been out for all that long and had never quite got around to sealing the deal, so to speak. 

Until it was sealed for him that is, the voice in Louis’ head sneers. 

“You know that you still haven’t had sex don’t you? You know that rape and sex are two entirely different things. People sometimes confuse the two, but they are worlds apart.”

Louis hasn’t heard anyone say this before. He’s not sure if he agrees, but considering he was a virgin before the attack, he figures he’s not well placed to argue. But then, maybe Dr Corden isn’t well placed either, unless he has been raped. It crosses his mind what Dr Corden might look like raped, what his voice might sound like screaming into a hard brick wall.

God, Louis hates his head when it gets like this. The darkness of his own thoughts scares him sometimes. 

But anyway, it’s not really about the sex. It’s true, the idea of having sex fills Louis with a dull thrum of panic, but it’s more than that. It’s Harry. Wonderful, lovely Harry, who has probably never known darkness and doesn’t deserve to have it thrust upon him by Louis. 

Dr Corden looks up at the clock on the wall. 

“Well Louis, it looks like our session has come to an end for this week. I would like you to consider everything we have talked about over the next few days. And most importantly I would like you to remember that you are not a fuck-up. There is no such thing.”

***

When Louis gets back to the house, it is to find Liam and Niall spread out across both couches playing FIFA. They are bickering good-naturedly back and forth, mainly about the fact that Niall has got back from training and is yet to take a shower and is stinking out the whole place. Niall claims Liam is just being a sore loser.

“I’m one hundred percent with Liam on this one, Niall you wreak!” Louis says exasperatedly as he flops down on the couch next to Liam, wrinkling his nose in Niall’s general direction.

“I do not appreciate being ganged up on. This is the smell of manly success. Sweet sweet victory,” Niall proclaims indignantly.

“I thought you only had training today?” Liam quibbles. 

“Well yeah. But we still played against each other, and my side still won,” Niall shrugs, focused intently on the TV.

Louis rolls his eyes and then settles in to watch them play for a few more minutes. Niall wins, as usual, and then declares himself off to have a winner’s shower. And then it’s just Liam and Louis on the couch. Liam, dear, dear Liam, who knows pretty much everything there is to know about Louis and still seems to love him despite it all. 

“How was Dr Corden?” he asks after a few moments in comfortable silence.

“Fine.”

“Wanna talk about it?” 

This is the same exchange they have every week. Liam always asks how it went and Louis always says fine. Then based on the tone of Louis’ answer, Liam knows whether or not to ask if Louis wants to talk about it. Sometimes Louis will shake his head, and then Liam will hug him. Sometimes Louis will tell Liam things that Dr Corden has said, and then Liam will hug him. A couple of times Louis has broken down in tears, and Liam has hugged him as tight as is humanly possible and held him until he’s stopped.

“Maybe.” Louis is quiet for a few seconds, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “He said that I haven’t had sex.”

Liam looks surprised at that, but quickly schools his face to try and hide it. Louis is grateful to him for it. He knows they both know Louis never talks about sex these days.

“What do you mean?” Liam asks cautiously.

“He says that rape and sex are two different things, and that I still haven’t had sex.” Liam frowns in thought. “I think,” Louis continues, “he was trying to tell me that I shouldn’t be scared about having sex because it won’t be anything like that time.”

“And are you scared of having sex?” Liam asks gently, his face softening. Louis shrugs for the millionth time that day, before curling into Liam’s side. Liam stretches his arm across Louis’ shoulder. Louis sighs.

“I don’t know. I mean, it can’t be that different can it? Sure, it wouldn’t be _exactly_ the same but it’s still a dick in a bumhole at the end of the day.” Louis means it completely seriously so he is startled when Liam laughs. “Oi! How’s that funny?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just,” Liam is still chuckling to himself, his eyes full of affection, “what a romantic you are Tommo! A dick in a bumhole. Sex according to Louis Tomlinson.”

“Fuck off,” Louis pinches Liam’s side, but he’s smiling too now. Maybe it’s good that Liam is laughing at him. Maybe it means there is something more to sex than his current estimation. 

“Look,” Liam says, once his laughter has subsided, “I think you will realise that… when the right person comes along…that sex is about all the other stuff. Love and… stuff.” Now it’s Liam’s turn to shrug.

“Ever the poet,” Louis chides cheekily. Liam pokes his shoulder.

“I mean it Louis. I definitely believe that you will meet someone who will show you that sex can be good, and that it is something you deserve. In the meantime, you just gotta take care of yourself. You deserve that at the very least. You’re so much more than you realise, you know.”

Louis really loves Liam an absolutely huge amount. He doesn’t know how to say it, so he just curls himself in tighter, and hopes Liam can feel the small grateful smile he presses into his side. 

Later that evening, Zayn comes around to hang out. Eleanor is out at dinner with Max, so it’s just the four lads, sprawled across the living room, surrounded by pizza boxes and beer bottles. Louis doesn’t really know what he did to deserve such amazing friends but he figures they are worth fighting for. He doesn’t want to be a burden anymore. If he’s going to get better somehow it’s got to be for these three boys of his, because he can’t bear to think what would happen to him if he lost them.

When he heads to bed that night, at the semi-respectable hour of half-twelve, he realises with a satisfied internal smile that he hasn’t thought about Harry all evening. Well OK, not all evening. He thought about Harry once when Niall mentioned a girl he has been seeing, who has straight blonde hair, just because that is the opposite of Harry’s hair. And he maybe also thought about Harry when Liam mentioned a photo he was tagged in on Facebook, because Harry is a photographer, obviously. And he thought about Harry when Zayn made a joke about Batman, although he’s not even sure what the connection is there. But he managed to not think about Harry all the time and that is certainly an improvement so he’ll take it. 

Baby steps. 

***

Harry has spent his Saturday evening alone in his flat. He had considered going out, but he knew he wouldn’t really enjoy it. He’s been feeling pretty deflated ever since Wednesday evening, and he’s annoyed at himself for letting Louis get to him. But Louis has got to him. In a big way. 

He looks wistfully at his watch, realising that its half one in the morning. It must be pretty much exactly a week since he met Louis. A week of not being able to close his eyes without seeing those sad blue ones looking at him. A week of wondering what made them so sad. 

Harry should go to bed. He has an early start at the bakery tomorrow. Well, it’s a Sunday so it doesn’t open until 10am, but that’s early for a Sunday. He checks his Tumblr for the hundredth time that evening, checking up on how his latest posts are doing. He’s taken to shooting in a slightly different way recently, more black and white photos and more portraits, and he wants to make sure it’s going down well with his followers. What had started as a simple way to share his photos online has become a massively time-consuming hobby. He’s nearly at four hundred thousand followers now and the number keeps totting up by the day. 

Eyes aching from staring at the screen for so long, Harry shuts his laptop and rolls into his bed, which is actually just a mattress on the floor of his tiny little bedsit in east London. It’s his though. It’s a home, of sorts, and he still has to pinch himself some mornings when he wakes up to find himself snuggled up in warm, soft sheets. He checks his phone. 2am. He doesn’t even have Louis’ number. Not that it would matter anyway. Louis obviously doesn’t want him. 

Or maybe Louis does want him, but something is holding him back? Harry is sure he isn’t making up those little glints in Louis’ eye, on Sunday at his house and in the cinema. Those little glances of Louis’ which seemed to be calling out to Harry. Trying to tell him something maybe? Louis had looked genuinely devastated as he had walked away from Harry. And he had sounded truly sorry. 

But then again he had chosen to walk away. There is nothing Harry can do to change that. He sets the alarm on his phone and sinks into his mattress, promising himself that tomorrow will be a new day. A new day free of thoughts about Louis and his beautiful blue eyes. A new day free of moping, and wondering, and regretting. 

Well, maybe that’s a bit ambitious, Harry thinks wryly. But either way tomorrow will certainly be a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think and if you can help me out by sharing this on Tumblr and leaving kudos I will be eternally grateful! I'm at [happilylarreh](http://happilylarreh.tumblr.com/post/127486849255/we-the-fireworks-by-happilylarreh-warnings) :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I'm sorry this chapter is later than I promised. I was planning to update on Weds but considering what went down that day I didn't exactly feel like it. I hope you understand. I also hope you're all doing OK! My inbox is always open to chat :)  
> Lot's of love xx

It’s been three weeks since the whole horrendous Harry incident and Louis has been doing a pretty good job of trying not to think about it, trying being the operative word. Occasionally he finds himself staring at someone in the street who has curly brown hair, or glancing up at work every five seconds to check whether Harry has suddenly decided to waltz back into the Regal and say something ridiculously cheesy like “so, how about that drink then?”

He doesn’t know why it’s bugging him so much. He made the right decision not to go for that drink, he knows he did. None of his reasons against it have changed. He’s still a complete mess. Harry still deserves better. But every so often he hears a little voice in the back of his mind saying, _what if…_

What if nothing. Harry is not a part of Louis’ life and he never really was. So that’s that. Really. Seriously. End of. 

_Hey bro, Ed is playing a couple songs tonight at Duke’s Head. Up for it?_

Louis lets out a tired sigh, frowning at his phone. He appreciates that Zayn invites him to these things - that Zayn even puts up with him at all given what an appalling conversationalist he has been these past few weeks - but he kind of feels tired of it too. Another evening spent in front of beer, watching Ed be talented, and hearing Zayn talking about his illustration blog and how that’s really starting to go well now, and Louis having nothing to contribute. It’s exhausting. 

It’s days like these that Louis really wants to just curl up in his bed and do absolutely nothing. Eleanor and Liam are studying. Niall is god knows where. Louis has the house to himself. A year ago that would have meant blasting up his music to full volume and prancing around pretending to be the fifth member of Little Mix. Now it means drawing his curtains and putting on his sweat pants and doing fuck all aside from wrapping himself up in his duvet and closing his eyes. So that’s what he does. 

He realises he must have drifted off when he is rudely woken by the incessant, simultaneous ringing of his doorbell and his phone. 

“Fuck off,” he mumbles to himself and rolls over, stuffing his head back under his pillow. Unsurprisingly this doesn’t seem to have the effect Louis had hoped for and the ringing continues until he finally concedes and rolls out of bed, stumbling across his room to grab his phone out of his jeans pocket and swearing under his breath.

“Dude, are you alright?” Zayn’s voice brings Louis back to himself a little. It’s ok, it’s just Zayn. Zayn doesn’t need to fuck off even if he is disturbing Louis’ precious wallowing time. 

“Yeah, m’fine. Is that you at my door as well?” he huffs. “Bit stalkerish but whatever.”

“Well you weren’t replying to me. I’ve text you like three times about tonight.”

“Oh yeah, that.” Oops, Louis had totally forgotten to actually respond to Zayn, but then he hadn’t known how to explain that he couldn’t go because he was busy doing absolutely nothing. 

“Yeah that. Mate, you’ve got to come! It’s open mic so Ed really needs the support and I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages,” Zayn whines down the phone.

“Zayn, I saw you two days ago at work.” 

“Yeah that’s ages, and also that’s work, it doesn’t count. Come and open the door you dick.”

“Oh god, alright. Stop ringing on the doorbell, I know you’re here!”

When Louis opens the door he scowls at Zayn, who is smiling more widely than seems appropriate for greeting a friend who ignores texts and has to be coaxed downstairs just to answer the door. But that’s Zayn.

“Are you ready?” he asks brightly, stepping into the small hallway and giving Louis a once over, eyebrows raised in amusement. “You wanna change first?”

“Alright, alright mate. Do you want to at least take your coat off before you start insulting my appearance?” Despite his words, Louis is smiling now. It’s amazing how much just seeing Zayn’s face makes him feel better. 

Zayn shrugs his coat off and switches on the TV in the living room while Louis goes to the bathroom to shave and tries to school his hair into something vaguely acceptable for public consumption. He then raids his wardrobe for the only black skinny jeans he owns which aren’t festering at the bottom of his very overdue laundry basket. He wrinkles his nose in disgust as he wades through his old clothes, bright red skinnies and turquoise-blue shirts. There is even a pair of pink shorts which makes him shudder now. He really needs to chuck all this stuff out, but he keeps putting it off, plagued as he is, every time he opens his wardrobe and sees the brilliant colours of his former life, by _that_ voice in his ear, spitting out the venomous word _twink._

When he returns to the living room, black jeans, black t-shirt, black jacket, he feels much better. Still crap. But much better. Zayn looks him up and down and nods approvingly. 

“Very funeral chic. I like it.” Louis gives him the finger with one hand, and grabs his keys with the other and they head out the door.

Inside the pub, they make their way to a corner table where Ed is waiting and waving at them cheerfully, pint already in hand, guitar stowed away by his chair. 

“Well look what the cat dragged in,” he grins by way of a greeting. 

“Shouldn’t you be saving yourself,” Zayn points cheekily at Ed’s pint, as Ed gets up to hug them both. 

“Mate, I’m not on until nine thirty, you think I’m just going to sit here for an hour watching you two downing pints like there’s no tomorrow?” Louis winces internally. He’s really been trying to cut down.

They settle into conversation and Louis finds himself having a not unpleasant time, which is a victory in itself. He’s still feeling kind of shit from his afternoon of hibernation but he’s glad Zayn made the effort to drag him out of the house. His gladness is tinged with a pang of guilt for being the sort of person who needs to be dragged. 

About twenty minutes in, Ed interrupts conversation to answer a phone call. Louis takes it as his opportunity to go to the toilet and when he comes back Ed is off the phone again and halfway through explaining something to Zayn about someone Louis doesn’t know.

“…yeah, he’s the one I mentioned before…”

“The Tumblr guy?” Zayn asks. Louis slots in beside him and picks up his pint. He is purposefully drinking it very slowly. He scans the pub again to make sure _they_ aren’t there. Not that there is any particular reason they would be, but it’s a habit Louis has picked up.

“Yeah, him. He seems to have been a bit down lately so I thought coming here might cheer him up,” Ed continues, “so be friendly please.”

“Who’s this?” Louis asks, turning his full attention back to the conversation. 

“A friend of mine who’s coming tonight. He just called to say he’s running a bit late.” Ed must see the hesitance on Louis’ face because he adds quickly, “he’s really nice, I know you’ll like him.”

Louis is sure he will be very nice. Ed is very nice so the chances of his friends also being very nice are pretty good. But still Louis groans inwardly at the prospect of having to make small talk with a new person. People he already knows are effort enough. 

“He’s a photographer…” Ed continues. 

Oh brilliant, that’s all Louis needs, another reminder of Harry, who he was doing so well not thinking about for all of ten minutes. He zones out of Ed’s words after that, lost in thought about Harry and how generally badly his life is going. He hardly notices when Ed gets up to take a call from his friend, who is apparently lost and incapable of correctly using google maps. He hardly notices when Ed goes back towards the bar to meet said friend. He definitely does notice, however, when Ed emerges from the crowded bar area once again, slipping his phone back into his pocket, followed by a very frazzled tall boy, with tattoos peaking out from the collar of his shirt, brilliant green eyes and a mop of brown curls, held back by a green headband. 

Harry. Oh god. It’s Harry. 

Louis stares from his seat across the crowded pub. He doesn’t think Harry has seen him yet and for one mad second he wonders whether he should just do a runner. Slip out the emergency exit and never step foot outside his house ever again. Oh god. Harry. What is he doing here? Doesn’t he live on the other side of London? Aren’t there, like, eight million people in London? Louis feels his hands clamming up. 

***

Ed ushers Harry over to the corner of the pub, brushing off his repeated apologies for being so late. 

“Mate, it’s fine, I’m not on for another half hour,” Ed smiles reassuringly as he leads Harry over to a table where…

Shit. Louis. That’s Louis, and Ed is leading Harry straight to him. He’s sat behind the table, looking tiny and startled, next to a dark-eyed man with perfectly-coiffed black hair, who Harry recognises from the cinema. And oh shit. It’s Louis. Harry doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. A part of him is incredibly happy to see Louis, but from the look of horror on Louis’ face as Ed and Harry approach the table, the sentiment is not returned. 

“Harry, mate, I want you to meet Zayn and Louis.” Ed indicates each of them in turn before pulling up a seat and gesturing for Harry to do the same. Harry smiles cautiously at each of them, and Zayn returns the nod, a slight frown on his face as though he half remembers Harry and can’t quite place him. Louis says nothing, taking a sip of his pint instead. 

“You alright Harry?” Ed asks, blithely unaware of any awkwardness, “stop standing there looking gormless and pull up a chair.” Harry does. He stifles a grimace as he realises that the only spare chair is the one next to Louis. He gives Louis a nervous glance as he manoeuvres into the tight space. As he sits he feels his knee brush momentarily against Louis’ under the table, before Louis pulls away with a jerk. When he glances at Louis again, he is staring intently at his pint as though it is the most fascinating thing he has ever seen. Well this is going to be fun. 

“So Harry,” Zayn pipes up, “Ed tells us you’re a photographer.” 

“Er…yeah, trying to be at least,” he smiles shyly. Ed pats him jovially on the back.

“Don’t be so modest Hazza. He’s a brilliant photographer, and the whole of the internet seems to agree with me!”

“Well that’s a bit of an exaggeration but cheers for the support,” Harry feels himself blushing. He is never quite sure how to accept praise. Zayn laughs. 

“Well Ed is known to exaggerate but in this case, four hundred thousand Tumblr followers can’t be wrong.”

“Ed!” Harry turns to him, feeling scandalised, “you can’t just tell people that. It makes me sound like a twat.” Ed simply grins and shrugs.

“Oops too late! Now who’s up for another round before I go on? Harry here needs a drink.” 

“It’s my round, I’ll go,” says Zayn, getting up from his seat and heading towards the bar. 

Harry falls into comfortable conversation with Ed, catching up on nothing much and discussing his set list for tonight. Well actually, it’s not exactly comfortable. Harry is painfully aware of Louis’ presence next to him, and the fact that Louis hasn’t said a word or looked at him since he sat down. Out of the corner of his eye he can see that Louis is chewing nervously on his bottom lip, his eyes never leaving his glass, his long sweeping eyelashes fluttering occasionally as he blinks. 

Zayn returns, and conversation continues and still Louis says nothing. Harry tries to keep his tone light and easy. He finds out that Zayn also has a blog, an illustration blog, and Harry asks him about it, trying to sound genuinely interested. In any other circumstance he wouldn’t even have to feign interest, Zayn is an interesting guy, but right now, trying to concentrate on anything that anyone is saying whilst he can feel Louis beside him, feel the warmth of his body next to Harry’s own, is proving difficult. 

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Zayn suddenly interrupts his own flow of speech.

Harry blinks. Yes. Yes you do, he thinks, but saying as much will implicate Louis and Harry senses that Louis won’t appreciate that all that much. He shrugs.

“Er…I don’t know…maybe?”

“Yes, I know! You’re…” Zayn suddenly lights up and then falters again, as he quickly glances at Louis cautiously. After a pause Ed looks confusedly from Harry to Zayn.

“He’s…?” 

“Ah actually,” Zayn shakes his head, “I thought you looked like someone else, a customer at work, but it’s not you.”

Harry only realises he had been holding his breath when he lets out the tiniest sigh of relief. He doesn’t dare look at Louis.

“I get that a lot you know,” Harry smiles reassuringly, “people always mistake me for someone else. I must have one of those faces.” Ed is frowning at him. 

“Do you?” he looks at him intently. Harry jokingly turns his face towards Ed, pulling as stern an expression as possible for him to inspect.

“See, to me you just look like an idiot who needs a haircut,” Ed declares, tugging playfully on Harry’s curls. 

“Hey,” Harry pouts, “long hair, don’t care!” As he turns away from Ed, flicking his hair in mock offence he catches Louis’ eye. Louis is now looking directly at him. Harry’s heart skips a beat. Something about Louis’ expression is calmer now. His lips part a fraction and for a moment Harry thinks he might be about to smile. Then instead he says,

“I like long hair.” 

Harry is stunned.

“Really?” Ed sounds unsure. “Even on men? Well each to their own I suppose.” 

Zayn replies. Harry doesn’t listen to his response and he doesn’t say anything. He stares intently at Louis, who is looking back into his eyes, a faint blush on his cheeks and his bottom lip caught nervously in his teeth. He seems to be searching for something, anything, from Harry. Harry smiles softly then, reassuring him, and Louis’ shoulders give just the tiniest bit and he releases his bottom lip. He really is beautiful.

After that Harry tries to turn his attention back to the conversation. Louis doesn’t say anything else directly to him, but Harry can feel that he is more relaxed now, occasionally adding to the conversation and drinking his beer instead of glaring at it. He even inclines his body slightly towards Harry’s. Or at least, Harry likes to think so. But just as on that first Sunday afternoon, Louis never speaks directly to him. 

Ed gets up at half nine and grabs his guitar, making his way confidently towards the little stage on the other side of the bar. Zayn and Harry clap him on the back, and Louis wishes him good luck, and their little corner of the pub cheers the loudest when he introduces himself to the crowd. 

After a few songs, which they listen to in comfortable silence, Zayn gets up to go to the toilet. Suddenly it’s just Harry and Louis, sat alone at the table, and Harry realises with a sad smile that this is the drink which Louis had turned down. He wants to say something but he doesn’t know what so instead he bounces his knee agitatedly under the table and drinks his beer and claps like a proud mother for Ed. He can feel Louis let out a palpable sigh of relief when Zayn joins them again. 

As the evening goes on, Harry realises he is getting quite tipsy. They all are. He is looking at Louis more openly now, and a warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach flares up every time Louis catches him looking and returns the sentiment, something which has been happening more and more as the evening has gone on. Ed rejoins their table after his performance, on a massive high from the incredible reception of the crowd and people keep coming over to congratulate him. Zayn is equally as excited by the hype as Ed, and the two of them get wrapped up in conversation, loudly planning the album titles and artwork for when Ed becomes a famous singer. Neither of them seems to notice that neither Harry nor Louis has spoken a word for at least the past fifteen minutes. 

Harry feels the tiniest nudge against his thigh under the table, for just a moment, before it is gone. He glances over at Louis, who is staring down at his hands, eyes calm and gaze fixed. Harry doesn’t know whether it was an accident or not. He has had enough beer that he decides he wants to find out. Quietly, almost imperceptibly, he shifts in his seat so that his thigh just brushes against Louis’ knee. His stomach swoops as he feels Louis respond and nudge his knee against Harry’s. He doesn’t move it away. It’s like electricity. Harry had never realised before now how many nerve endings he has on that part of his thigh. When he sneaks a glance at Louis, he can see the shadow of a smile tugging at the corner of Louis’ lips. Harry moves his hand an inch closer to where Louis’ rests on the table, so that their fingers are almost touching and then keeps it there.

Harry’s insides are turning somersaults. Zayn is talking about some TV show now, and Ed is talking about some other TV show and apparently the two of them can’t agree on which one is the best. The crowd around them is loud and the music from the stage is even louder, and yet it feels to Harry as though all the energy in the world is concentrated here, between his body and Louis’. A frisson of electricity running between them, precious and intense and exciting and so so delicate. Harry is afraid to move for fear of breaking it. 

And then it happens. He sees it and he feels it all at once. Louis’s eyes have been down, focused on his hand. His finger twitches for a millisecond, a terrifying millisecond in which Harry thinks that Louis is going to pull away, break the invisible thread between them, but instead he moves his hand just the tiniest bit across the table and lets his little finger stretch out to brush Harry’s thumb. And then it’s gone again. Louis’ face gives nothing away. Harry wants to reach out. Wants to grab Louis’ hand, and hold it close to his heart. He wants to say a thousand things and at the same time say nothing at all, but just stare and stare into Louis’ brilliant blue eyes and have them look back at him. 

So he does. He looks at Louis and wills him to look back. After several moments, Louis does. He turns his head slowly, almost fearfully until he finds Harry’s eyes, and Harry wants to sing with how beautiful Louis is. He can feel his heart pounding ferociously in his chest, and he has never known butterflies quite like this before, and in that moment there is nothing in the world but them. 

“Oi, I asked if you guys want another drink or not?” Harry hears as he feels a kick under the table from the side that isn’t Louis. He comes back to himself, as Louis looks away quickly, face turning a deep shade of red. Harry loves Ed, he really does, but right now he could punch him. 

“Er…no I’m good thanks,” he mumbles, not knowing where to look. Zayn’s eyes are darting between Louis and Harry now, a suspicious frown on his face. 

“I’m OK thanks Ed,” Louis says, now looking resolutely anywhere but Harry.

“Yeah I actually have work tomorrow morning so probably shouldn’t,” says Zayn, checking his phone. “In fact we should think about making a move, it’s nearly midnight.” 

No, not yet. Harry knows he needs to do something. He can’t let Louis walk away from him again. He can’t.

Ed is nodding his agreement and getting up to put on his jacket. Zayn follows suit. Harry sits there, momentarily frozen. He doesn’t want this to end. Whatever this is. Sitting here, next to Louis, he doesn’t want it to end. He realises with a jolt that Louis also hasn’t moved. When Zayn raises his eyebrows at him though, he nods and slowly gets up, grabbing his jacket from behind him. Harry has no choice now but to stand and gather his things, chest aching and heavy. He glances at Louis, who doesn’t look at him, but his eyes move enough for Harry to know that Louis knows he is looking. 

They step out into the cold street, which suddenly feels very quiet compared to the pub. Zayn turns to Harry.

“It was great to meet you Harry,” he smiles, “hopefully see you again soon yeah?” 

“Yeah definitely,” Harry smiles back, clasping his hand firmly before patting him on the back for good measure. 

“See you mate. Thanks so much for coming. Means a lot.” Ed pulls Harry into a gruff hug, made awkward by his massive guitar case. 

“Not at all man, you were great!” 

“And same to you Louis,” Ed says, before pulling him into an equally awkward but friendly embrace. Louis just smiles and nods shyly. Ed steps back and eyes Harry and Louis before turning with a raised eyebrow to Zayn. 

“Right we should head. We’re going in this direction,” he points behind himself, “I assume you are both headed for the bus stop?” 

Harry nods. Louis says nothing. Zayn is frowning at Louis again now, as if he wants to say something but can’t in front of Harry and Ed. Harry thinks this might just be the most awkward goodbye he has ever said outside a pub. 

“Alright lads,” Zayn finally says, seeming to have given up on his silent conversation with Louis, “take care, yeah? See you soon.” And with that he and Ed wave a final goodbye and walk away, chatting amongst themselves, their laughter the last thing to fade as they turn a corner. 

Harry looks at Louis. This is the part where he should say goodbye. He should just turn around and get in a taxi and that will be that. He knows there is no way in hell he is going to do that. 

Louis clears his throat and then mumbles at the ground.

“I think I drank one too many in there.”

Harry chuckles lightly, and nods his agreement. He realises this is only the second time Louis has spoken directly to him all night. Then suddenly he realises what Louis is doing. Louis is giving him a get out clause, giving himself a get out clause, and Harry won’t allow it. He may not be one hundred percet sober but he knows the tight knot in his stomach right now has absolutely nothing to do with beer. He treads carefully.

“Yeah me too…but I don’t think I’m drunk though.” Louis looks up at him then, eyes wide and searching. Harry thinks perhaps he understands. Slowly he nods. 

“Me neither.” 

Harry takes a deep breath to steady himself and then steps closer to Louis, so close in fact that he can see every eyelash, and every hair of his eyebrows. Louis closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them again Harry is standing right there, searching deep, willing Louis to tell him that it’s OK. Slowly, very slowly, he reaches out his hand and gently takes Louis’. Louis inhales sharply but doesn’t pull away. His hand in Harry’s is small and soft, and between them their breaths are fast and shallow. 

***

Louis doesn’t know how he got here. One minute he was wrapped up in his duvet, hating the world, and now he is here, looking into Harry’s wide, green eyes, and feeling as though he wants to jump into them, wrap himself up in their warmth and stay there forever. The longer he had sat next to Harry, the harder it had become to cling onto the reasons that Louis shouldn’t just curl into him. Breathe him in. He had surprised himself with how desperately his body had called out to Harry’s, like a magnet. No matter what he said to himself, he couldn’t stop it. And now he’s here. And he realises with a rush that he doesn’t want to stop it. Not now, when the universe has given him a second chance. 

Harry’s hand is strong and secure around Louis’ own. Harry’s face is so close that Louis can feel the warmth of his breath mixing with the cold night air around them. Louis can feel every nerve in his body crying out, to touch and to be touched by this beautiful, beautiful man who looks at Louis as though he matters, as though he cares. Louis gives Harry’s hand the tiniest squeeze and shifts incrementally closer towards him. 

And then Harry dips his head forward and his lips catch Louis’, gently, oh so gently, and hesitantly. Louis’ mind goes blank. All he can register is that Harry, gorgeous, wonderful, kind Harry, who Louis barely knows and has barely spoken to, is kissing him, Louis, rubbish, messed up, unattractive Louis. It lasts for only a second before Harry is pulling back and looking into his eyes, questioning. He doesn’t know how to answer so he steps forward once more, and with his free hand reaches out to clasp at Harry’s shirt, steadying himself from the dizzying sensation of Harry’s lips against his own. He wants that sensation again. 

As though he has read Louis’ mind, Harry kisses him again, slightly harder this time and more sure, and this time Louis responds, pushing back against Harry’s lips desperately, scrunching up his eyes against the rush of emotion he can feel rising within him. This feels like the first kiss. The first kiss he has ever had. The first kiss that there has ever been and Louis doesn’t ever want it to end, so he kisses more fervently, and Harry kisses him back more fervently still. He feels Harry’s free hand come up to trace the curve of his jaw, guiding their kisses, anchoring Louis to him. 

Louis doesn’t know how long they kiss, but eventually Harry pulls back and stares into his eyes, hand still firmly under his chin. He doesn’t know what Harry is searching for but he begins to feel hot under his gaze, scared that Harry will see him properly and let go. He looks down at his feet. Harry shakes his head.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are,” he breathes, his voice heavy with awe. Louis doesn’t know how to answer that. Harry is the beautiful one. Harry with his curving lips, and his dimples and his curls, and his warmth and his hands. Harry is beautiful. Louis is just, well, Louis. 

When Louis doesn’t say anything, Harry kisses him again, this time more deeply and more frantically, curling his arm around Louis’ back, as though trying to pour his words into Louis and make Louis believe them. Like this, wrapped up in Harry, Louis thinks he almost does. Their lips brush against each other like a conversation, and all Louis’ thoughts slip away until there is only one left. Harry. 

“Faggots!”

A harsh shout from across the street cuts through the night and makes Louis’ blood run cold. He pulls back from Harry startled and yet still he clings onto Harry’s shirt, his body unwilling to let him go. Harry is frowning now, his glazed eyes quickly becoming bright again, turning his head over his shoulder to see who shouted at them. Whoever it was has already blended back into the flow of people walking down the street. Louis feels sick. 

“Dickhead,” Harry mutters, turning back around to Louis, his arms still firmly in place around him. He looks as though he is about to kiss Louis again when he stops and frowns. “Hey, are you OK? Don’t listen to them.” He says it soothingly and Louis wants to nod and mutter _dickhead_ in return but he can’t. His chest feels tight and his fingers feel cold and he can feel panic rising up in him. The more he tries to control it the more he hears his breath coming out in sharp erratic bursts and he feels like he wants to scream. 

Harry’s eyes are wide and worried now, searching Louis’ face for an answer which Louis can’t give.

“Hey, hey, it’s OK,” Harry soothes, holding Louis close to him, “it’s OK, let’s get you home, yeah?” Louis clings onto Harry and nods into his neck, breathing in Harry’s scent, trying to calm himself. Harry hails down a taxi and doesn’t let go of Louis until he is safely inside, before rushing to the other side and opening the door. Louis didn’t realise Harry was coming with him. He had assumed Harry had wanted to get as far away from Louis as possible when he realised that Louis is the sort of person to have a nervous breakdown at a single word yelled from a distance. But Harry is getting in the car, and telling the driver to go to 25 Rowntree Avenue, and holding Louis’ hand in his. 

Louis just stares at him, amazed. Harry looks nervous, then frowns, suddenly unsure of himself. 

“Sorry,” he says after a few moments, his grip on Louis’ hand loosening slightly. “I should have checked if it was OK to ride with you. I didn’t even think I just sort of…I’m sorry, I can get out here if you would prefer?” He looks utterly deflated and can’t quite look Louis in the eye. When Louis still doesn’t say anything he continues,

“I’m not trying to…this isn’t me making a move or anything. Really I just wanted to make sure you were OK.”

Louis smiles a small smile and shakes his head, dumbfounded. Who even is this boy? This boy who thinks that Louis might _not_ want him here next to him, holding his hand? 

“I’m glad that you’re here,” Louis says, turning into Harry, who smiles and tightens his hold on Louis’ hand again. “Thank you.” 

They don’t say anything else for the rest of the journey. The silence between them is heavy with nervous tension but it’s not unpleasant. Harry holds Louis’ hand in his, his thumb brushing lightly over his palm in soothing circles. He tries to focus on the feeling of that and that alone, tries not to think ahead.

As they approach his house, Louis looks up at Harry, unsure of how to ask for what he wants. He doesn’t really know what he wants but he knows what he doesn’t want and that is to watch Harry drive away in the taxi. After a few attempts to speak, in which he opens and closes his mouth, probably looking as dumb as he feels, he finally finds the words.

“Do you want to come inside?” Harry looks surprised and Louis suddenly panics. Not like that! Not like that! “I mean, just, just to talk or whatever. I don’t mean anything by it, I can sleep on the couch if you want… you don’t have to,” he finishes lamely. Harry nods, his eyes wide and full of understanding. 

“I would like that. Just to talk.” Louis feels calm again at Harry’s words. There is something in Harry’s voice which makes Louis trust him. Trust that Harry understands what Louis is asking of him. Trust that Harry isn’t just trying to fuck him. Trust. Louis hasn’t felt it with anyone who wasn’t Liam in a long time.

The taxi pulls up outside his house and Harry goes to get out his wallet but Louis shakes his head. 

“No, this is definitely me,” he says sheepishly, realising with embarrassment that Harry must have paid for the taxi the last time. Louis never even thought or offered to pay him back! Harry really is too perfect for this world. He hands the driver the fare and clambers gingerly onto the street, feeling slightly shaky with nerves and yet more calm than he has felt in a long time all because of the curly-haired boy who comes to stand beside him from the other side of the car. They both stare up at the house as the taxi pulls away, suddenly unsure of each other and themselves.

“Last time we were here I threw up on your shoes,” Louis says dully into the silence. He’s not sure why he brings it up. He thinks maybe he wants Harry to know that he is aware that he is a pathetic mess. Harry just laughs lightly. 

“That’s true, you did!” He suddenly clasps Louis’ hand in his own, and steps up onto the doorstep, turning to look back down at him, a huge grin on his face. “Maybe next time we find ourselves here we can think of another memory?” Louis steps up onto the doorstep to join Harry. He nods. Then Harry kisses him once, chastely and too lightly, before pulling away and smiling widely, the dimples in his cheeks accented by the moonlight. 

***

It’s half one in the morning and Harry cannot sleep. His head is buzzing with a million different thoughts all of which revolve around the boy sleeping in the room next door. After they had come upstairs, Harry had made it very clear that he was perfectly happy sleeping on the couch. He had been terrified that Louis might suspect him of ulterior motives and he couldn’t bear the thought of that. He had also been insistent that he take the couch, even though Louis had offered to be the one to take it. He really doesn’t mind this couch. He hadn’t been lying when he had told Eleanor all those weeks ago that it was comfy. 

Three weeks ago. God. Little did Harry know he would end up on this exact same couch exactly three weeks later, worrying once again about _those_ blue eyes, at once so sad and so stunning. This time other thoughts, which weren’t there before, keep swimming around his head. The rough feel of Louis’ chapped lips against his own, the sharp curve of his jaw, the smell of his hair, his body pressed against Harry’s. Harry has kissed more people than he cares to think about, but he has never kissed anyone like Louis before. He can’t imagine that anyone else like Louis exists. 

He rolls over on the sofa to check his phone. It’s 2am. He feels wide awake. He sighs in frustration and wonders what tomorrow will be like. Will Louis scare again, and retreat back into himself? Or will he be different this time? Harry hopes desperately that Louis knows he can trust him, even though, Harry concedes to himself, they hardly know each other. To think of that seems strange.

Harry is pulled out of his thoughts by the pad-pad of bare feet on carpet followed by a creaking at the living room door. He sits up slowly, worried that one of Louis’ housemates has come home late, not wanting to give anyone a heart attack. As he turns around to face the door he sees a figure illuminated at intervals by the passing traffic outside the window.

“Louis?” he whispers, “Are you alright?” 

Louis just stands in the doorway, seemingly uncertain as to whether or not he is allowed into the room. After a few seconds in which Harry blinks through the gloom trying to make out Louis’ expression, he takes a hesitant step into the room. 

“I…” he begins and then freezes up, staring down at his toes, which are peeping out of his too-large pyjama bottoms. After a few moments he inhales deeply and continues. “I get these nightmares sometimes and I…” Trailing off helplessly again, he lifts his face to look imploringly at Harry, twisting his fingers together with nerves. Suddenly Harry’s brain jumps into gear and he scrambles out of his makeshift bed, padding across the floor to stand before Louis, in only his boxers and t-shirt. He feels kind of naked and silly, but Louis doesn’t seem to notice, instead staring at Harry with all the vulnerability of a child. Harry smiles in understanding.

“Trouble sleeping?” Louis nods. Harry sighs, “me too.” He isn’t sure what he can do to help. He searches Louis’ face and then, slowly, he thinks he begins to understand. But still he doesn’t know what to do. If he’s wrong he could destroy this precious thing that has happened between them tonight. The risk of that scares him into silence. 

They stand there like that, for god knows how long, each too afraid to say what they want to say and to ask for what they need. Suddenly, Harry is startled to find Louis wrapping his fingers around Harry’s wrist and giving the tiniest little tug. He clears his throat and Harry holds his breath.

“The couch is probably really uncomfy,” he almost whispers, “you can share my bed if you want.” There, he’s said it. His shoulders relax slightly. Maybe he does trust Harry at least a little. Harry wants to laugh with relief and wrap Louis in his arms and never let go, but instead he smiles, catching Louis’ fingers with his own and nods. 

“Sure, if you don’t mind.” 

Louis leads the way then, padding softly back to his room, hand in Harry’s. Harry realises vaguely that he has left his jeans and shoes and wallet and phone in the living room, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about right now is the boy in front of him, stepping tentatively through the dark until he stops at his door and pushes it open. 

He guides Harry carefully through a maze of clothes strewn on the floor, until they reach the bed. He lets go of Harry’s hand then, and climbs in first, rolling over to the side closest to the wall, with his back to Harry. Harry gets in next, careful not to tug on the duvet too hard and not to touch Louis as he gets in. He lies there on his back and hardly dares to breathe, the scent of Louis surrounding him. 

After a few minutes Louis turns over to face Harry. He pauses for a moment, as though second guessing himself, and then dips forward to kiss Harry quickly on the mouth. Harry closes his eyes and smiles into it. When he opens them again Louis is resting his head on the pillow, looking at Harry with an unreadable expression. All of a sudden he frowns and says quite sternly,

“Just so you know, this isn’t about sex.” 

Harry is surprised, not by Louis’ sentiment but by the fact that he said it, but he hopes his face doesn’t show it in the dark. 

“I know,” Harry nods assuredly. Louis is thoughtful for a moment before he continues in a whisper. 

“I don’t know what this is, but it can’t be about sex. You have to understand that.” Louis makes a face then, as if unsure whether he is making sense even to himself. _It can’t be about sex_. There is something in Louis’ tone which gives away the weight of his words. Amazingly, Harry thinks he understands. He thinks he actually understands more than Louis realises. He not only understands, he agrees. He knows why _he_ feels this way but he wonders, with a pang, what made Louis feel the same. He shifts closer to Louis until their foreheads are touching.

Whatever this is, this thing that isn’t about sex, it _is_ something. Louis has just acknowledged it. 

“I understand,” is all Harry can say, “I promise.” 

That seems to relax Louis, who sinks into the bed and closes his eyes with a soft sigh. Harry will close his eyes soon, but not just yet, not before he has taken in every detail of Louis’ face and so filled his mind with it that he can be certain that he will dream of nothing else. 

“Good night,” Louis breathes sleepily into the pillow.

“Good night Louis.” 

Harry whispers it so quietly that it is a thought rather than words.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry wakes up to the sight of deep blue eyes and the low hum of morning traffic. He blinks dazedly, slowly recalling the events of last night. 

Louis. Right. He is in Louis’ bed. This is Louis’ house. Those are Louis’ eyes.

When Louis realises that Harry has woken up he smiles sheepishly into his pillow and mumbles,

“Good morning.”

“Morning.” Harry’s voice is low and scratchy and caught around a warm smile. So this is what it feels like to wake up next to Louis. Harry smiles even wider when he sees that Louis looks sleepy and relaxed, a smile of his own playing at his lips. Thank god he’s not going to run off to the bathroom this time. 

“How did you sleep?” Harry asks.

“Good,” Louis mumbles, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, his chin just peeping out of the duvet cover. His hair is mussed up from sleep and his fringe falls floppily across his eyes, making him look even softer and more gorgeous than Harry would have thought possible. “What about you?”

“Hmmm, good thanks.” Harry stretches contentedly underneath the duvet as if to emphasise his words. As he does so, his ankle lightly brushes Louis’ toes. Louis giggles. He actually properly giggles. Harry hardly knows this man, and suddenly he realises what a tragedy that is. All these years Louis has existed and Harry hasn’t known him. Well, that ends today.

“Sooo…” Harry begins, internally debating how the hell he is supposed to announce his sudden desperate impulse to know everything there is to know about someone he has only met three times. 

“So?” Louis raises his eyebrows, eyes fixed on Harry.

“So,” Harry laughs, “so, erm… what’s your favourite colour?”

“Huh?” Louis frowns. Clearly whatever he was expecting Harry to say, it wasn’t that. Harry reckons that’s probably fair enough. He persists anyway. He’s got to start somewhere in his mission to learn everything ever about Louis, and favourite colour is definitely somewhere. 

“What’s your favourite colour? Mine’s green, I think. Or maybe blue.” Harry feels like a five year old. 

Louis is still frowning at him looking perplexed. He looks as if he is about to say something flippant but then he seems to catch himself, and his face softens slightly. He continues to stare though and doesn’t say anything, instead biting on his lower lip, so Harry continues.  
“I like purple too, and orange although I never really wear it. And yellow cos it’s the colour of bananas,” Louis lets out a soft snort at that but still says nothing, “and I like black and white for photography.”

“So basically you like all the colours including the non-colours?” Louis pipes up, his tone playful and teasing. 

“No, I didn’t say all the colours,” Harry muses, “I didn’t say red…”

“My favourite colour is red,” Louis interrupts, the very epitome of deadpan. 

“…not that I don’t like it,” Harry continues as though he hasn’t heard, “it’s a strong colour and certainly has a lot to be said for it. I have a great deal of respect for red but I’m not sure I’m man enough to handle it as my favourite…” Harry, who has been looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully, turns to catch Louis’ eye and as he does the two of them dissolve into laughter, Louis burying his face into his pillow to muffle the sounds. 

“What even is this conversation?” he says after he has had a chance to compose himself. Harry shrugs, grinning.

“I dunno, thought we could try to get to know each other a bit better? Seeing as how… I’ve stayed over at your house two times now!” What he means is, seeing as how we have kissed, seeing as how I am completely and utterly and inexplicable drawn to you in a way I have never felt before, seeing as how you are the most fascinating person I have ever met. He figures it may be too soon to say these things out loud. 

Louis must get it at least on some level, as he hums thoughtfully and then says,

“Ok, I’ll start. Where are you from?”

“Cheshire. You?”

“Doncaster. Where in Cheshire?” Louis sounds like he’s playing twenty questions.

“A tiny tiny village called Holmes Chapel.”

“Haven’t heard of it.”

“Would be shocked if you had. It’s got a population of about twelve!” 

“Including yourself?”

“No, it was thirteen before I left.”

“Do you like it there?”

“Absolutely love it!” Harry smiles warmly, and feels the familiar pang of sadness which he gets every time he talks about his little village. Louis is smiling too now. The strange interview like tone of that exchange seems to have amused him. 

“Do you like Doncaster?” Harry asks, rolling over on his side so that he is facing Louis square on. Louis shrugs. 

“It’s OK I guess. My mum and sisters are there, so it has that in it’s favour. But it’s a bit of a shit hole if I’m honest. That’s why I’m here paying an extortionate amount of rent to be in London.” Harry laughs and nods in agreement. London prices are horrendous, it’s true. 

“How many sisters do you have?”

“I have four.” Louis frowns suddenly and shakes his head. “Sorry, actually I have five and one brother.” Harry looks confused and a shadowy look of guilt crosses over Louis’ face. He’s not sure whether he should ask. In the end he doesn’t have to.

“That probably sounds weird that I don’t know how many siblings I have, it’s just my mum only recently had twins, a boy and a girl, and I haven’t seen them very much seeing as I live here… and I’m just so used to answering four…” Louis looks troubled, stumbling slightly over his words. 

“That makes sense, you don’t need to explain it to me,” Harry says lightly. Still, Louis looks strangely perturbed and Harry wonders if there is more to it than Louis is letting on. “So are you the eldest then?”

“Uh huh. Quite the role model.” Louis’ voice is heavy with sarcasm and Harry doesn’t like that he has tensed up somewhat. He decides family is probably a topic of conversation to steer away from, especially considering he wouldn’t even know where to begin if Louis asked him about his own. Luckily he doesn’t.

Harry rolls back onto his back, and looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully. Feeling the weight of Louis beside him, he is overcome with a sudden urge to reach out and pull him close, but he’s not sure if he is allowed. He has no idea what this is, and Louis’ words from last night keep running through his head. This can’t be about sex. Other memories from last night keep running through his head as well, the way Louis’ hand had gripped at his shirt, the way Louis’ tongue had chased his own, the way Louis tasted. He wonders if Louis is remembering the same things. He hopes that he is.

“Who is your best friend in all the world?” Harry asks next after a moment’s thoughtful pause. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were eight years old,” Louis quips, his shoulders easing up slightly and the crinkles around his eyes returning as he wrinkles his nose at what he obviously considers to be a silly question.

“I’m ten actually, and I want to know. Is it Zayn? Or Eleanor?” Harry hazards a guess. 

“Ok, fine ten year old Harry, I don’t know who my best friend in all the world is.” Louis seems to mull it over for a second, biting again on his bottom lip in a way which is quickly becoming one of Harry’s absolute most favourite things about him. 

“Zayn is a really good mate, but we haven’t actually been friends that long, and El is wonderful too, she’s definitely my best girl friend, and Niall is also an incredible friend but, er… if I had to pick a best friend I would have to say Liam.” Louis nods his head as if satisfied with his own decision. 

“Liam? He’s the housemate I haven’t met right?” Louis nods. “Why him?”

“I don’t know, I guess we’ve just been mates since forever. He started at my school when his family moved to Doncaster when we were twelve and I was assigned to like, look after him, cos he was the new kid in school and all that, and he was a right goody two shoes and I very much wasn’t so it should have been a disaster but we just kind of clicked. I think I corrupted him,” he adds with a smug grin, before looking serious again, “but I also looked out for him, you know, cos he was picked on and stuff for being new and then we both came to uni together and yeah…” he tails off shrugging lamely, but Harry can tell from the warmth in his voice that this Liam guy is important to him. 

“You look out for him,” Harry states, not quite a question. Something darkens Louis’ eyes for a fraction of a second, before he huffs lightly. 

“We look out for each other.” He doesn’t say anything else, but goes back to chewing on his lip, looking almost nervous now, as though perhaps he has shared too much. Harry looks back up at the ceiling. He decides that Liam sounds great and he definitely wants to meet him. 

“He sounds like a great guy. I’d love to meet him.” As soon as it’s out of his mouth, he catches himself and panics. What if Louis thinks he is trying to push his way into his life, uninvited. Harry has no idea what this is between them, has no idea what Louis thinks this is, but he definitely doesn’t have the right to go around demanding to meet the people in Louis’ life. After a beat Louis says,

“I’m sure you can…if you want to?” His voice is small and uncertain. Harry feels something tug in his chest. That feeling from the bar last night, of electricity between them, sparks up and suddenly the air is thick with anticipation. Slowly Harry rolls back onto his side to face Louis, whose eyes are wide and searching. Harry smiles.

“I do want to.”

Louis doesn’t smile back. Instead his eyes widen even further and he breathes in heavily, as though to ready himself for something. Maybe to reiterate his statement from last night that this isn’t about sex, maybe to take it back and say actually I don’t feel like introducing you to my best friend considering I don’t really know you, or maybe…

Or maybe…this. A kiss. Whilst Harry is busy internally fretting, he almost misses the heartbeat in which Louis moves his head across his pillow to kiss Harry squarely on the mouth. It only lasts for a few seconds, close-mouthed and delicate, and then he pulls away, eyes widening again, and cheeks slightly flushed, awaiting Harry’s response. 

Harry is momentarily lost for words. He wasn’t expecting it and the feel of Louis’ lips on his is even more dizzying than he remembers. It’s a wonderful kind of dizzying. He opens his mouth to speak but no words come out, so he responds in kind, kissing Louis lightly on the corner of his mouth before pecking him again on his bottom lip, coaxing until Louis kisses back, a small smile curving his lips. 

This must be what heaven feels like, Harry thinks. Soft white sheets, and wintery pale sunlight spilling through half-drawn curtains and Louis. Their kisses are close-mouthed and playful, and yet even these little pecks send a giddy rush through Harry, making him laugh lightly against Louis’ lips. 

“What’s so funny?” Louis asks softly, pulling back from Harry just far enough to look into his eyes. 

“M’just happy,” Harry shrugs, smiling contentedly against the pillow. Louis seems to think about this for a second before giving the tiniest nod, and then kisses Harry again. A small contented hum escapes his lips, before he pulls back.

“So what about you? Do you have a best friend?” he asks, resting his cheek against the pillow once again. Their faces are closer together this time. 

“Er… dunno.” Harry thinks about it for a second. “I guess it’s Ed probably. I don’t really have many friends if I’m honest.” He’s surprised that he doesn’t mind confessing this to Louis, who is looking at him curiously.

“Really? That surprises me…”

“How come?”

“You’re just so, I dunno… You seem like the sort of person who would have a lot of friends.” Louis’ voice is soft and Harry wonders whether Louis might pity him. 

“Well thanks I guess.” He hopes Louis doesn’t pity him. He’s not unhappy by any means, and he supposes, if he wanted to, he could have a lot more friends now. He had to learn to be very self-sufficient very early on, and that’s something he has never quite been able to reverse. Total dependence on oneself. It’s tiring at times, but he feels safer that way. 

“How did you and Ed meet?” 

“Just in a bar about a year or so ago. He was playing and I thought he was so good I had to tell him and we got chatting and he invited me to another gig and we just hit it off. He’s such a talented guy.”

“He is.” Louis nods in agreement. 

“How did you meet Ed?” Harry asks, snuggling his body an inch closer to Louis’. He feels so cozy right now he thinks he might fall asleep again, except for the constant butterflies in his stomach every time Louis looks at him. 

“Through Zayn, just a couple of months ago,” Louis states simply, and then frowning, “it seems weird our paths haven’t crossed before now.” Harry nods slowly. 

“Yeah it does, doesn’t it. I knew his housemate was called Zayn but Ed and I mostly hang out at mine, when he’s doing a gig in East London. I’ve only ever been round his house a couple of times and Zayn was always at work.”

“With me.” Louis says quietly, almost a whisper. Harry thinks about it for a moment. How strange the universe is. 

“I guess so. All this time and Ed never thought to introduce us!” he smiles at Louis to show he’s joking, and Louis smiles back. Well we’ve met now, he thinks, and the warm feeling in his stomach swells again. 

“Well I suppose in a way he did,” Louis says after a moment’s comfortable silence. 

“Really?” Harry looks perplexed, “I met you in a toilet!”

“Oh god, really? How embarrassing…” says Louis. Harry laughs.

“Well actually if we’re being pedantic, we met at the bar. Sort of. Well not so much met but you accidentally spilt drink all over me and I told you it was fine, so that’s a meeting of sorts. That’s how I first noticed you.” 

Louis groans. 

“Ok, so I owe you a drink.”

“You owe me two.” Harry grins cheekily.

“How do you figure that?”

“That time after the cinema when you bailed on me.” He means it to sound playful but at the look on Louis’ face his stomach sinks. “I was only joking! Sorry, you don’t owe me any drinks at all.” Louis is frowning and his cheeks are flushed. 

“No,” he begins slowly, as though choosing his words carefully, “you’re right. I do owe you.” Harry is about to interrupt, to protest, but Louis stops him. “I owe you for saving me that night. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t taken care of me. I…” he seems to be struggling to find the words, “I was an embarrassment that night,” he finishes miserably. 

“Hey,” Harry whispers “don’t be silly. You weren’t an embarrassment.” Louis scoffs and Harry ignores him. “We’ve all been there. Seriously, I should know.” He doesn’t elaborate. But goodness, he thinks, if Louis knew the situations Harry had got himself into when he was younger, back in those days when he didn’t particularly care whether he lived or died, if only Louis knew what a mess Harry had been, he would think his own small drunken display nothing at all. Harry shakes his head, trying to squash away the memories…

“You OK?” Louis says, “you zoned out for a minute there…” 

“Er,” Harry laughs it off then, turning his attention fully back to the lovely eyes which are staring at him widely, a slight hint of concern dancing behind the blue. “Yeah I’m fine. Sorry, I’m told I do that a lot. Bad habit.”

“That’s OK.” Louis smiles one of his small crinkly eyed smiles. “I do the same.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Ever since…” Louis catches himself and bites down on his bottom lip, a deep frown on his brow. Harry thinks he might know what Louis was going to say, but he’s not really sure. It’s all guesswork based on the strange words Louis had muttered in the taxi that first night. His strange conflicting personality, at times so bright and sharp but mostly hidden, as though Louis himself were trying to pull away from a world which had given him reason to fall out of love with it. And then last night, the utter terror on Louis’ face when some homophobic bastard had shouted at them. There is something in all of it which is so familiar to Harry, although he desperately hopes that he’s wrong. 

“Louis?” he says cautiously, unsure of how to tread. He’s only met Louis three times after all. 

“Hmm?” Louis answers, frown still in place.

“Did you…? I mean, er, is there something…” he really has no right to pry, he should just shut up. When he doesn’t say anything further, Louis raises his eyebrow inquisitively. 

“Did I what?”

“Er…I don’t really know what I’m trying to ask, it’s just…something you said in the taxi, on that first night that we met…” What is he doing? He suddenly realises with horror how unfair he is being. It’s not his place to ask Louis anything and especially not if he is correct in his guess. He doesn’t know what mad impulse made him even begin to try, except for the need to reach out. Perhaps even to help.

He realises with a sinking feeling that Louis has frozen in his place, and is no longer looking at Harry. He shifts incrementally away and Harry wants to reach out and apologise and kiss him until his unfinished question evaporates into thin air. Instead it hangs heavy between them.

After a few painful moments, in which Harry doesn’t trust himself to say anything else, Louis speaks.

“I don’t remember what I said in the taxi.” His voice sounds small and vulnerable and suddenly Harry realises how this must feel to Louis right now. Louis has no idea what Harry knows. 

“You didn’t say anything concrete, I promise.” Harry says quickly, desperate to reassure him. When Louis continues to look doubtful and almost downright scared, he elaborates. “You honestly didn’t. It’s just you said stuff about being scared and…er, not wanting it to happen again. But you didn’t say what,” he adds quickly, “and, I don’t know, I just. I suppose basically what I’m asking is are you OK?” There, it’s out. And it’s not a horrendously invasive question. Or actually maybe it is. Harry supposes it depends on the answer. 

He fully expects Louis to nod and brush off the question, so he is surprised when he takes a moment to answer. When he does his tone is strange. He doesn’t seem angry at Harry’s question, but the answer doesn’t seem to come easy either. 

“Well, like I said, I don’t remember what I said in the taxi. I am OK really. Mostly, but I suppose, if I’m totally honest with you… I dunno… I,” he takes a deep breath, and looks Harry straight in the eye, before he seems to wilt slightly. He shakes his head. “I dunno.” 

It’s an answer. They both know it, and Harry looks at Louis in awe. He may not have said much but he was honest, he didn’t fob Harry off. And that’s a start. He nods reassuringly and then smiles. Louis smiles back then, a warm wide smile that reaches his eyes and laughs softly. 

“I know it may sound crazy,” he almost whispers, “seeing as how we have not known each other very long, but I’m really happy that you’re here.” A faint blush tinges his cheeks, and he looks nervous, as though he is confessing a secret. Harry grins even wider and snuggles further into the duvet. His legs brush against Louis’ as he does.

“Me too,” he nods. He is about to kiss Louis again when a loud knock suddenly permeates their comfortable silence and before Louis has a chance to answer, the door swings open and in steps an unfamiliar guy with brown cropped hair and a light beard, wearing nothing but grey sweat pants. If Harry stares a beat too long at the guy’s very impressive abs, nobody needs to know. 

“Lou?” the guy begins before stopping short as he takes in the scene before him, staring at Harry in surprise. “Oh sorry,” he mumbles. Harry realises what it must look like.

“S’alright Liam,” Louis says, seemingly unphased by this turn of events. He sits up in bed. “You can come in. Just maybe learn to knock in future would you?”

“Er, yeah, sure. Sorry.” Liam is still standing awkwardly by the door, looking at Harry in shock, which suggests to Harry that Louis doesn’t make a habit of bringing home random men very often. Either that or Harry has something on his face.

“What do you want?” Louis asks patiently. 

“Oh, er…I was just wondering if you’ve seen my phone charger. I can’t find it.”

“Nope, sorry. You can check if you left it in here though.” Liam nods, averting his eyes from the bed as he begins to clumsily rummage through the things on Louis’ desk. “By the way Liam, this is Harry. Harry meet Liam.”

When Harry had suggested he would like to meet Liam, he hadn’t quite envisaged it like this. For one thing, he had expected to be wearing trousers. Still, as long as Louis appears unperturbed, Harry can find something quite amusing in the whole situation. From the look of mortification on Liam’s face, he’s not on the same page. 

“Hi Liam,” Harry says lazily from the bed, as he drags himself up to sit next to Louis. “S’nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Liam mumbles, still averting his eyes, and currently looking for his phone charger amongst a pile of magazines, which it most likely probably definitely isn’t. After a few more moments of fruitless rummaging, he straightens up and declares that he might have left it in Niall’s room before scurrying towards the door. As he shuts it behind him, Louis snorts softly. 

“Sorry. He’s normally much friendlier.” 

“That’s OK,” says Harry, “poor bloke didn’t know where to look.” Louis laughs. 

“Poor bloke indeed. What’s the time by the way?” He gestures over to his phone which is on the bedside table next to Harry. Harry passes it to him, realising that his own stuff must still be in the living room, including his trousers. Poor Liam.

“God. It’s almost twelve.” Louis scrolls through his phone for a sec and Harry watches him in fascination, admiring the sharp line of his jaw. He keeps staring at his phone as he speaks again. “I don’t suppose you fancy getting some breakfast or something? Unless you have to be getting home? Not that I’m trying to get rid of you, I mean, I just don’t want to keep you if you’ve got stuff to be doing. I…” He looks flustered.

“Breakfast sounds great!” Harry agrees enthusiastically. Louis’ shoulders relax.

“Great! Breakfast it is!”

***

They’ve been chatting over breakfast for more than two hours and they haven’t run out of things to say to each other. Louis thinks this may be a new record for him! Not old him of course. Old him could talk for England, but new him…well, maybe this is a new new him!

Harry is fascinating that’s for sure. The way he measures out his words, as though assembling thoughts like building blocks. The way he asks Louis a million questions, and doesn’t look frustrated or disappointed even when Louis’ answers are far from enlightened. He asks Louis a lot about work, and about his friends and silly things like his favourite TV show as a kid, and his favourite animal. He seems to think no detail of Louis’ life too small or too trivial to be enquired after. Louis doesn’t see why but he finds that he is speaking more openly about himself than he has done in months.

“Are you more a museums or an art galleries kind of guy?” Harry asks his ten billionth question, leaning intently across the table to be heard above the hideous lounge music which this café clearly seems to think acceptable. 

“Erm… probably more of a museum _gift shop_ kind of guy. I never really got the appeal of looking at loads of random pots in glass cases.” 

“But they’re like, ancient pots. Made by ancient people!” Harry looks scandalised.

“…and I always used to get told off on school trips for being too loud. I mean, why does it matter, it’s not a library. It’s not as though my talking is getting in the way of your pot-watching.”

Harry snorts. 

“What about things other than pots? What about paintings? Or photography?” Louis considers it for a second.

“Well I suppose if they are nice paintings and nice photos. I haven’t actually been to an art gallery since I was a kid. But what about you?”

“I’m not sure I could choose between them. So you literally haven’t been to an art gallery as an adult?” From the look on Harry’s face Louis might just as well have said he hasn’t eaten since he was a child. 

“Nope.”

“That definitely needs rectifying!”

“OK.” Louis smiles at Harry’s choice of word. 

“OK.” Harry nods, as though accepting a challenge. Louis wonders if they have just sort of maybe agreed to a second date. He hopes very much that they have, but at the same time the idea terrifies him. 

“Now it’s my turn to ask questions,” he says, staunchly ignoring the waitress who has been side-eyeing them for the past half hour since she rather pointedly brought them their bill. 

“OK,” Harry agrees, rubbing his hands together in preparation. “I’m ready. What you got?” Louis kind of maybe thinks Harry is adorable. 

“What’s the one thing you miss most about home?”

“My duvet.”

“That’s it? Your duvet? How, er, heart-warming?” 

“And my pillow. Other pillows are never quite the right consistency of lumpiness.” 

“I meant more like home as in your village back home in Cheshire?”

“Oh.” Harry looks mildly surprised as though that hadn’t occurred to him. Surely it must have. “I dunno,” he shrugs, “the people I guess. There were always lots of friendly old ladies who liked to stop me on the street and say hello.”

“Sounds like you were quite the ladies’ man!”

“I genuinely was…with the over-sixties at least.” 

“Into older women? I see how it is…” Louis winks playfully across the table. Harry pokes his tongue out. 

“That’s what they say but you know how rumours spread.” He throws up his hands in mock despair.

“No smoke without fire I say,” Louis chides. 

“Unless it’s a cigarette!” 

Harry is grinning like a child, evidently rather pleased with his statement. Louis laughs, shaking his head at this ridiculous and wonderful man sat before him. In a sudden rush he has a memory of himself, as he was a year ago, sat here in this very café with Niall and Liam, laughing hysterically over something, god knows if he remembers what. He laughs more brightly at the thought of it and Harry is laughing too now.

After a few moments, when their laughter has subsided, Harry sticks up his hand, looking every bit like an overgrown schoolboy. 

“I have a question. What’s your surname?” Huh. That’s weird. Louis hadn’t even thought of Harry as having any other name. He seems too special for such mundane things as surnames. 

“Guess.”

“What…heeeey, that’s not fair!” Harry whines. “There are like two million surnames.”

“Is that an exact figure?” 

“I’ve done my research. It’s actually two million, six hundred and thirty four, but who’s counting!” 

“It’s Tomlinson.” 

“Oh,” Harry’s eyes light up, “that explains Tommo! That’s what Niall called you that time.”

“Bonus points for observation, clearly. That is indeed the deep and complex thinking behind the Tommo. What’s your surname?”

“Guess!” Harry grins smugly.

“Potter?” 

“Ok, I asked for that. It’s not Potter.” 

“Hill?”

“No. It’s Styles?”

“Are you asking me whether or not that’s your surname?”

“No, sorry,” Harry laughs and shakes his head. God, he is gorgeous when he laughs, his dimples deepening exponentially, framed by tumbling unruly curls, still slightly matted from sleep and no shower. “My surname is Styles.”

“Stiles as in the things we use to climb over fences in the countryside, or Styles as in various fashion trends?”

“Various fashion trends.” 

Hmm. Louis likes it. He thinks it fits. It sort of sounds like an actor or a popstar name, not that he’s going to say that out loud of course. There is sharing and then there is giving away the fact that were Harry actually a popstar Louis would definitely have the biggest fanboy crush on him and would definitely kiss his poster every night. Louis doesn’t trust his face. 

“It’s not a name you hear everyday.”

“It’s not,” Harry agrees. “So now we know each other’s full names what say you we get seconds? I know we only just ate, but for some reason I am already hungry again!”

“Well that’s probably because we ate nearly three hours ago, and also because the portions in here are shit!” Louis ignores the waitress’ obvious scowl in his direction. Well love, if you don’t want people slagging off your portions, quite frankly, serve bigger portions. 

“Yeah, they _were_ kind of small. Ooo,” Harry almost bounces off his seat, “I know a place we could go! They do amazing like, noodles and wraps and stuff, and it’s really cheap and really filling, although,” he hesitates, “it’s kind of near me, so we would have to get the tube. Brick Lane?”

Louis considers his options. On the one hand, it seems kind of mental to go halfway across London, especially to Brick Lane which is, by virtue of being a hipster paradise, a Louis hell, just to eat more food and spend more money. And if Louis goes, he realises, that’s pretty much them committing to spending a whole day together which is weirdly intense, and Louis doesn’t really want to think about the implications of that too much. On the other hand, he is also hungry again, and if he says no Harry might decide to go anyway and then they wouldn’t be hanging out anymore, and Louis would be left to his own devices once again and…

“Let’s do it!” he declares abruptly. Harry looks surprised but pleasantly so.

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Yeah why not?” Louis nods. “I haven’t been up that end of London in a while.”

“Awesome, let me just get the bill.” Harry digs into his coat pocket hanging off the back of his chair. Louis takes it as his opportunity to slip out of his seat and gesture to the waitress behind the till that he would like to pay for them both. When Harry realises what he is doing he scowls and shakes his head. Louis ignores him. When he comes back to his seat Harry is frowning.

“You really didn’t have to pay you know. Let me pay you my half back at least?”

“No,” Louis shakes his head fervently, “really no, it’s the least I can do after you paid for my taxi that time!” Harry looks unsure. Louis suddenly thinks of a compromise. “If you let me pay for this then I promise I won’t bring up the taxi anymore. We’ll be even then.” Harry thinks about it for a second before smiling and nodding his agreement. 

“I can handle that,” he says, “well, I suppose, thanks for breakfast!”

“Who are we kidding? This was not breakfast. This was brunch,” Louis says as they grab their jackets and head out of the door. Harry waves a polite goodbye to the grumpy waitress, who frowns back. “In fact,” they step out into the crisp November air, the sun already low in the sky, “this wasn’t even brunch. It was full on lunch.”

“Don’t say that!”

“Why not?”

“Because that makes our next meal dinner, but I know I’ll be hungry again later.”

“But it has to be lunch, we had it after midday. You can’t have brunch in the afternoon.” They turn towards the tube station, falling into step quite naturally next to each other. Under the bright winter sun, Louis is struck by how pale Harry’s skin is, and how pink his lips.

“Ok,” Harry seems to mull it over in his head for a few paces, “let’s say that was lunch, and dinner will be later so this next meal is like brunch but for the afternoon. Linner?” 

“Why not dunch?” 

“Because that sounds like something you would say to be mean to someone. Linner sounds sophisticated.” Harry sounds so sure of himself, it is utterly endearing.

Louis laughs and wraps his coat tighter around his body as they approach the underground. The biting wind, which whips past them and promises a horrendous December, is in total contrast to the warm feeling inside his chest. 

He checks his phone hurriedly just before they enter the station, seeing that it is gone three o’clock and that he received a message from Zayn over an hour ago. 

_Fifa? Your place?_

_Sorry just seen this,_ he taps out, _I’m busy atm. Text you later :)_

As he hits send and stuffs his phone back into his pocket, he realises with a start that he doesn’t remember the last time that he was actually truly busy rather than just fobbing Zayn off. Or the last time he sent anything which involved any sort of emoji. He looks at Harry, who catches him looking and smiles. 

***

That night, having enjoyed linner on Brick Lane followed by a simple dinner of pasta and pesto whipped up by Harry in his little bedsit, and multiple episodes of Gogglebox streamed on Harry’s laptop, Louis gingerly pulls off his jeans and wriggles under the covers to join Harry. They had decided it made more sense for Louis to stay over because the tube was already closed by the time they had shut off the laptop. 

He is tired but for the first time in months he feels happy tired, satisfied tired, the sort of tired one feels after a long brisk walk in the fresh air, instead of the drained, inert tiredness he has come to know. 

Harry is looking at his phone, the bright white screen casting an eery glow over his face in the otherwise darkened room. Louis rests his head on the pillow, drinking Harry in, the curving bow of his lips, the line of his nose, his furrowed brow. After a few seconds Harry must feel Louis’ gaze on him. He turns to him and smiles widely, locking his phone and setting it aside. 

They haven’t kissed all day, not since they were in Louis’ bed that morning. But Harry had taken his hand a few times as they were walking along the street, browsing the many shops around Brick Lane. And on the tube, Louis had found himself leaning into Harry, who had wrapped his arm around his shoulders in a way that made Louis feel safer than he had felt in a long time. So now Louis finds himself overcome once again to kiss Harry. So he does. He has no idea where this bravery is coming from. 

As Louis pulls away from the kiss, he sees Harry’s eyelashes flutter before his eyes open. How is this gorgeous man here, and lying next to Louis? He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get how someone like Harry can be interested in someone like Louis, but Louis figures he’s going to enjoy it while he can. This is the first time this year that his cheeks have ached from smiling. 

Harry has to get up early tomorrow for work, and Louis also has a shift and needs to go home to change and shower. But they will see each other again. They have exchanged numbers. Harry has promised to take Louis to an exhibition that is on this week at the Photographer’s Gallery. 

Louis falls asleep with a smile on his face, and Harry’s arm wrapped around his chest, keeping him warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are really appreciated. I would love to hear what you all think! Next chapter will be up next week :)


	6. Chapter 6

For the next few weeks Louis sees Harry nearly every day. Harry often comes over to the Regal to meet Louis after work. They go for drinks, sometimes with Ed and Zayn, sometimes on their own. Harry comes around to watch a football match with Louis and Niall, and meets Liam properly, this time fully-clothed. He stays over at Louis’ house, sleeps in Louis’ bed and they kiss and they snuggle into each other’s arms and one morning Harry makes breakfast and Eleanor declares that Harry is by far superior to Louis based on his cooking skills and that she thinks he should move in. Louis splutters violently on his tea and Harry merely smirks and serves up deliciously golden fried eggs and crispy streaks of bacon. 

They go to painfully hipster cafes, which would be vomit inducing except for how at home Harry looks in them. They explore random parts of London that Louis never realised existed. They go to the Photographer’s Gallery more than once. Harry takes photos of everything, of buildings and passers-by, of birds and fountains, and of Louis. And he asks questions, so many questions, all with the same wide-eyed earnestness and enthusiasm as a child. Louis answers him as best he can and admires his photos and laughs at his ridiculous jokes and begins to see colour in the world again. 

“You know” he remarks, one bright December morning as they are walking across Clapham Common, the bare branches of the trees set spectacularly against the glowing white sky and low sun, “it’s almost two months since we first met?” 

Harry smiles and nods, his breath misting in front of him. 

“I know. It seems like forever ago doesn’t it?” 

“Hmmm” Louis hums happily in agreement. He places his gloved hand in Harry’s larger ungloved one and swings them up to meet his lips. 

In that moment, Harry’s eyes hold the affection and warmth which Louis has come to recognise as reserved especially for him. His stomach swoops every time he thinks of it. But they also hold a question, a glint of uncertainty which Louis has noticed growing day by day and which terrifies him more than he can bring himself to admit. 

This nagging anxiety aside, Louis is happy. For the first time in god knows how long, he actually wants to get out of bed in the mornings, even the mornings when Harry isn’t asleep next to him, although they are still sometimes a bit of a struggle. He has energy. He doesn’t automatically hate every customer at work on sight, and he has stopped questioning why on earth Harry is choosing to spend time with him. Well maybe not stopped. But definitely cut down. 

The change in Louis doesn’t go unnoticed by his friends or indeed Dr Corden, whose sessions have suddenly become a lot more lively, since Louis has found that he actually has something to talk about which doesn’t make him want to curl up in a dark corner. That something has bright green eyes, a sort of strange green, emerald but earthier, a colour somewhat difficult to convey as Louis discovers when he tries to do exactly that one Saturday morning in Dr Corden’s office. 

“…cos they’re not like grass-green, they’re earthier than that, but not in that sort of hazel way where people pretend their eyes are green but they are actually just swamp-brown…”

Dr Corden smiles slightly in amusement. Louis hardly notices. 

“You know, it’s like they basically are green. All other greens need a qualifier because they’re not pure green but his eyes are like green-green. The standard by which all other greens should be measured.” Louis knows he must sound like a bumbling idiot but he doesn’t care. Dr Corden has always wanted him to talk more, so that’s precisely what he’s doing. The fact that he may slightly be deflecting from Dr Corden’s initial question about the sexual nature of Louis’ relationship with Harry is neither here nor there. 

“So, do you consider green-green eyed Harry your boyfriend?” Dr Corden asks patiently. 

Ok, so apparently he is not so easily thrown off course by eulogies about green eyes as Louis had hoped. 

“We haven’t spoken about it,” is all he can say. 

“Why not?” asks Dr Corden, peering over his glasses. Louis exhales loudly, as though this is all rather more effort than he can be bothered with. It is really. He is happy, why does Dr Corden have to dig up things which have the potential to ruin that. 

“Because…” he begins.

“Because?” Dr Corden prompts gently after a pause.

“Because, neither of us have brought it up.”

“Do you _want_ to bring it up?” 

Louis shakes his head. He bites on his bottom lip and frowns. 

“I think maybe Harry does. Maybe?” 

“What makes you think that?” 

Louis shrugs. 

“Just…I dunno. Sometimes he looks like he is about to ask me something, or he looks at me funny but… I don’t know.” 

“Would you like to be Harry’s boyfriend?”

Louis frowns again. He knows he has been different lately, much, much happier than before, but surely Dr Corden hasn’t forgotten what a screw up he actually is, temporary happy reprieve aside. Surely Dr Corden must have realised from everything Louis has said about Harry, that Harry is absolutely wonderful, and therefore he must realise that long term Harry and Louis are not going to work out. Louis knows it himself, although thinking about it makes him want to scream and cry and cling to Harry and beg him to stay with him forever, none of which would be particularly dignified behaviour, so Louis has taken to just not thinking about the future and what this all might mean. Right now things are good and that’s good enough for him. 

Louis still hasn’t said anything, and he realises that Dr Corden is watching him expectantly. 

“Er… well, I suppose, I haven’t told him about, you know, what happened to me.” 

Dr Corden nods, understanding and unsurprised. 

“And we haven’t slept together,” Louis offers reluctantly, a pang of shame tugs in his chest. “We just kiss and hold hands and stuff. And it’s nice. But if we were boyfriends then he would expect me to have sex with him and I…” Louis trails off, looking helplessly at Dr Corden, whose eyes are wise and kind looking. Surely he must get it. Louis is too fucked up to be anyone’s boyfriend, let alone Harry’s, who deserves so much better. 

“Do you ever feel that Harry is putting pressure on you to do things you don’t want to do?” 

“No,” Louis shakes his head violently. Harry would never do that. “Definitely not!” 

“That’s good,” says Dr Corden, “Louis, you’ve told me many times that you feel you can trust Harry, and he isn’t pressuring you sexually. By the sound of it, he cares about you a great deal. Do you think you might share with him what happened to you?” 

Louis shakes his head. No. Harry is such a happy person. Louis doesn’t think he could bear to see Harry’s once warm, affectionate eyes turned to pity and revulsion. 

“Why not?” 

Louis says nothing for a while. Eventually he shrugs.

“I’m scared of what he will think of me, I guess.” 

“You don’t think he will understand?” 

Louis shakes his head, defeated. He feels like crap right about now. Isn’t Dr Corden supposed to be making him feel better, not worse? He wants his money back.

***

As Louis leaves Dr Corden’s office and heads towards the park he mulls the session over in his head. Dr Corden had probed Louis about Harry an awful lot, about his personality and their relationship, and as the session had gone on Louis had been increasingly unsettled by a growing realisation. 

When Dr Corden had asked about Harry’s background, his family, his education, seemingly just to make conversation as the session was nearing its end, Louis had realised that he couldn’t answer. The realisation had hit him like a swift punch to the gut. He doesn’t quite know how it’s happened but somehow he knows next to nothing about Harry.

Louis decides to take the bus instead of the tube, as the Christmas lights are all up along Oxford Street and Regent’s Street and even in the daytime they, along with the festive shop windows and the bustling crowds, are a sight to behold. It turns out to be a terrible decision as he is already running late for Niall’s match and when he checks his watch and looks out at the Christmas traffic he doubts he will even make it for half-time, let alone kick-off. But it’s worth it even so for the view out of the windows. Harrassed-looking shoppers and ill-advised tourists streak past the windows in a blur of woolly hats and shopping bags. Louis thinks back to his first Christmas in London, how wide-eyed and excited he had been. Nostalgia curls in his stomach. And he thinks of Harry. 

Harry feels like that first London Christmas. Huge and sparkling luminescent and happy. And transient. Louis can’t bring himself to even begin to believe that Harry might be someone he gets to keep and when he thinks more and more about how little he really knows of him and what that might signify, he feels sick. 

***

Harry is standing beside Liam, freezing his bum off and screaming at the top of his lungs. 

“COME ON NIAAAALLLL! YOU CAN DO IIIIIIT!”

Liam rubs ferociously at his ear closest to Harry but doesn’t complain and joins in, matching Harry’s raucous shouts with his own. The crowd is a particularly lively one and Harry wonders if it’s always like this or if the cold is giving people an added incentive to clap their hands and stamp their feet, whilst watching the players running up and down the pitch. 

He feels a tap on his shoulder and turns around to see Louis looking as gorgeous as ever, and quite tiny underneath a massive beanie. It looks exactly like one he used to wear when he was sixteen. The sight of it makes him temporarily forget the sub-zero temperature. 

“Hey you,” he says, before wrapping his arms around Louis and pecking him softly on the corner of his mouth. 

“Hey,” Louis almost whispers, wrapping his arms under Harry’s jacket. “Sorry I’m so late, I got horrendously held up by traffic.” 

“S’ok. I got your text. You’re here now!” Harry beams.

Just at that moment Liam turns around and notices that Louis has arrived. Harry absolutely does not feel even a pang of disappointment as Louis leaves his arms to greet Liam. Nope. Not a thing. 

“How was Dr Corden?” he hears Liam mumble under the roar of the crowd. 

“Fine. So, what did I miss?” says Louis, standing between the two taller boys and slapping them both on the back. Before either of them have time to answer, Niall streaks past chasing the ball and Louis shouts at the top of his lungs,

“GET IN NIALLER! GIVE EM SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT!”

Harry throws his head back in laughter before joining the crowd in a particularly loud series of roars as Niall chases the ball down the pitch, deftly swerving a tackle, before passing the ball to a tall, lanky player on their team. 

“YES GREG. GO ON BOY”

“COME ONNNNN!”

The fierceness with which Louis and Liam are shouting is almost comical and Harry would laugh except that he is feeling the adrenaline as much as they are at this point. The player, who Harry assumes is Greg, narrowly manages to avoid a tackle from a burly man with a shaved head, regaining control of the ball just in time to pass it back to Niall who puts it into the back of the net. 

The crowd erupts and Harry realises that he is jumping up and down, his voice hoarse, and then Louis is beside him, in his arms, jumping too and cheering. Niall emerges from the heap of teammates who have swamped him seconds after his spectacular goal and as he races up the pitch he passes Harry, Louis and Liam and gives each of them a high five. Harry’s chest swells with pride. He wonders if perhaps he and Niall are friends.

“That’s the first goal of the match. It’s one-nil to us,” Liam explains to Louis, his eyes bright with excitement. 

There’s only ten more minutes of play, in which nothing of any note happens, although Louis shouts and cheers bloody murder, and Harry finds himself at more than one point, absolutely awe-struck by him. This was the boy who just two months ago he had found on the floor of a night club toilet, drunk and scared. The boy who had seemed so afraid to let himself be looked at, who had mumbled and frowned more than he had talked and smiled, and had shrunk away from the world. And now here he is, bold and beautiful, shouting louder than anyone else. In his excitement Liam knocks Louis’ beanie off his head, and he doesn’t even wince. His scruffy hair silhouetted against the low, pale sun contrasted with the sharp line of his jaw, puts Harry in mind of a baby lion-cub.

Yet… Harry wonders if he almost imagines it… A few times, when Louis turns and looks at him, smiling and cheering for Niall, something in his face falters, just for a split second, before he blinks and turns his attention back to the players. 

Harry could be making it up. He tries to put it out of his mind, enjoying the moment and soaking up the energy of the crowd. But the seed of doubt takes route and Harry finds himself unable to enjoy the last few minutes of the game, eyes intently focused on Louis, who is no longer looking at him at all. As the whistle blows signalling the end of the match, and Louis and Liam rush forward to congratulate Niall and the other players, Harry hangs back and prays to god that he is making it all up in his head. 

They all decide to go to the pub after the game, Niall, Liam, Louis and Harry. Well actually Liam, Louis and Harry decide to tag along with Niall and the team who are going for celebratory drinks, but from the team’s response Harry can tell they are very much welcome. You would think Louis were one of the team from the way they all hug him warmly and slap him on the back. He looks absolutely in his element. Harry remembers Louis saying he had left the team a few months back, when his counsellor, of whom Harry knows the name but not the reason for his presence in Louis’ life, had asked to switch their sessions to Saturdays, meaning Louis couldn’t make practise anymore. He had shrugged it off as no big deal when Harry had tried to dig deeper, but watching him now Harry is not sure that he believes him. 

***

Louis feels like he’s back on the team, crushed into the tiny pub, gaining disapproving looks from their fellow punters as they belt out chant after drunken chant. If he is totally honest with himself, his reason for throwing himself so completely back into the arms of his old teammates is not entirely innocent. Yes he’s excited to catch up with them, especially Greg and Matt, and he’s massively relieved to find that they still want to give him the time of day, let alone drink with him, considering the unexplained nature of his sudden departure from the team. So despite the incredibly legitimate reason to be giving all his attention to these lads, there is also another reason. Harry. Or rather the avoidance thereof. 

He feels a guilty pang when he looks across to see that Harry and Liam have politely retreated into their own conversation, perched at the end of the bar, their energy and enthusiasm for laddish talk of football and who’s going to pull which fit bird tonight having long been exhausted. Louis tries to shrug off his guilt, and tells himself it is unwarranted. He hasn’t seen the football lads in ages and he sees those two all the time recently, and Harry and Liam get on just fine, and in fact it might be good for them to get to know each other better, seeing as how Liam is so important to Louis and Harry has quickly become so too. At that thought the same shadow of doubt, which he had had to shake off several times during the football match, clouds over his mind once again. Harry is so important to Louis. But is Louis important to Harry? If he were, surely Harry wouldn’t be holding back on him like he is. 

He looks across at Harry, who is slumped low over his beer, chatting to Liam good-naturedly enough, although Louis can detect a slight note of distraction in Harry’s brow and the way that his knee keeps bopping up and down below the bar. Louis’ body tingles with the overwhelming urge to reach out, push past the drunken mass of football players and place a calming hand on Harry’s knee. 

He feels Niall slap him on the back, and place another beer in his hand. He gets a text from Zayn and he responds, telling Zayn to come and join them. Someone goes up to the jukebox and puts on a Christmas song. Slade or something. One of those songs which is hideously overplayed. He tries to sing along with the others. He tries to engage in a conversation with Matt about some girl he is seeing but it’s not long before he finds himself staring at Harry once again. He can’t make out anything of what he is saying above the tinny music and the din of conversation but he can just about make out Harry’s laugh. Louis hones in on the sound and smiles. It’s the laugh Harry does when he has told one of his terrible jokes, probably a pun, and is simultaneously incredibly proud of himself and thoroughly ashamed, as Louis has told him on many occasions he should be. The look of confusion on Liam’s face and the way Harry shakes his head confirms for Louis that he is right. 

He does know Harry. He does. 

He knows his weird and wonderful sense of humour so exactly that he has found himself predicting Harry’s awful puns before he even comes out with them. He knows the way that Harry snuffles slightly in his sleep, and the way that his voice is low and gravelly first thing in the morning. He knows the smirk which often plays on Harry’s lips and he’s learnt that that smirk often hides a multitude of other emotions, but that sometimes it is just a smirk. He knows that Harry would cut off his own arm before he would ignore a beggar or even a busker on the street. He knows how Harry likes his tea and he knows Harry’s opinions on music and art. He knows Harry’s passion for photography and the reverence with which he talks about his favourite photographers. He knows that Harry cares about his followers on Tumblr, although Harry has never actually shown him his blog, and he knows that he is easily hurt when he gets nasty comments, even though he hardly ever does. 

He knows that Harry would never push him to do anything he doesn’t want to do. He knows that Harry watches him constantly out of the corner of his eye, just to make sure that he is OK. He knows that Harry knows when he is anxious and he knows that he can always rely on Harry to wrap him up in his arms and press his lips against Louis’ forehead until his anxiety simply seeps away. 

Louis feels as though he knows Harry better than he has ever known anyone before, yet it strikes him as absolutely astounding that he doesn’t even know if Harry has any siblings? He doesn’t know anything about his parents. He doesn’t know anything about his school, what he did there, if he had friends… if he was happy? 

In fact when Louis thinks about it, he realises that every time he has asked Harry about his life pre-London, he has managed to fob Louis off with a funny answer before turning the conversation back onto Louis. Louis knows that Holmes Chapel is small and full of old ladies who liked to say hello to Harry. He knows, or at least he suspects, that Harry has at some point lived in Manchester, from the few tiny things which have slipped out of his mouth. But he has no idea if Harry misses it, or if he has friends there or family whom he might want to return to one day. 

God, how has this happened? How has Louis been so self-absorbed not to notice that Harry is essentially a closed book? He seems so open, so easy to read, but in every answer Louis realises there has been a deflection. Louis knows nothing about this person and it’s all his own fault. He’s been too selfish to notice. Harry must think him an idiot. 

He starts to feel himself getting more and more worked up, his thoughts spiralling downwards, deeper and darker, the feelings of self-loathing, temporarily held at bay rushing back with renewed vigour and full force. Suddenly the tiny, crowded pub is suffocating. Louis bangs his pint down on the nearest table and mumbles something about a cigarette before rushing out of the door, not bothering to look back and check whether anyone has heard.

He leans his head back against the bare brick wall of the courtyard and closes his eyes in an attempt to black out the fears which have taken root in his mind. He has barely finished the first drag of his cigarette when he feels a presence in front of him. For a split-second the experience is sickeningly reminiscent of that night in the alleyway all those months ago, and his eyes fly open in panic, his mind momentarily dazed. 

When he sees that it is Harry stood before him, green eyes wide and brow furrowed, Louis half-laughs with relief. 

“Lou, are you OK?” Harry asks, frown deepening as he searches Louis’ face. 

“I’m fine,” Louis lies. Harry looks unconvinced but he doesn’t argue. Instead he comes to stand next to Louis, back against the wall. Louis takes another drag from his cigarette. 

“You seem off with me this afternoon,” Harry says quietly, after a moment’s pause. When Louis doesn’t answer he continues. “Have I done something to piss you off or…?”

Louis pushes himself abruptly away from the wall and inhales deeply. He can do this. He can be normal for Harry’s sake. He shakes his head, turning to meet Harry’s eyes. 

“No you haven’t.” He smiles, as warm a smile as he can muster, and is relieved to see Harry’s expression soften. “I guess I’m just tired from my session today and, just, stuff on my mind. That’s all.” He shrugs. Harry steps towards him and reaches out his hand. He still looks doubtful.

“You know you can talk to me don’t you?” he says. 

“I know. I just…” Words are on the tip of Louis’ tongue. He doesn’t know exactly which words, but whatever they are he can’t quite seem to muster the energy to force them out of his mouth. Suddenly all his tension drops away and he slumps against Harry, feeling defeated and small. “I’m sorry. It’s just… sometimes this scares me,” he whispers into Harry’s neck. 

“What do you mean?” Harry whispers back, bringing up his arms to wrap around Louis’ body. 

“This. Us. Whatever we are.” 

“Why does it scare you?” Harry asks, his voice low and soft against Louis’ ear. Louis squeezes his eyes tight shut. Because I have never felt this way about another human being, he thinks to himself, and I’m scared you don’t feel the same. 

“I dunno.” Louis half-considers how strange they would look if someone else came into the courtyard. Thankfully it is just the two of them, wrapped up in Harry’s huge winter coat and the many words they haven’t said. 

“Louis…” Harry begins and then falters. There is a heaviness in the way he says Louis’ name. Louis keeps his eyes closed and breathes Harry in, feeling the beat of his heart under his shirt. That is until Harry breaks away from him, stepping back to examine Louis’ face properly. Louis hates this feeling, like a butterfly pinned under a microscope. 

“Louis,” Harry begins more firmly this time, “can I ask? What is this between us?”

Oh god. This is it. This is the part where Harry will look confused for a moment before regretful apology sets in when he realises that Louis feels for him more strongly than he meant him to, and Harry will be kind about it and will try to comfort Louis, because he is a good person, but then he will have to leave and Louis will be back to where he was, before Harry and oh god oh god. 

Harry is biting nervously on his bottom lip and frowning expectantly at Louis. Louis can hardly bring himself to look at Harry, let alone answer his question. Self-defence sets in. He won’t lose anymore of himself than he has to. 

Harry must realise that he isn’t going to get an answer from Louis, as eventually he takes a deep breath and starts speaking. It takes Louis a second to understand what he is saying. 

“I’m only asking because I like you,” Harry says, looking younger than usual and as vulnerable as a child. Louis blinks. “I really like you. God, Louis, I think I might just like you more than anyone I’ve ever met.” Harry throws his hands up in the air helplessly. Louis stands glued to the spot and says nothing, although he begins to feel a warm swell in his stomach as the meaning of Harry’s words starts to seep in. Harry likes him. 

“But,” and just like that the growing warmth in Louis freezes, “I’m confused. I don’t know where I stand with you and I feel like sometimes you hold yourself back from me. I…” Harry seems to search desperately for the right words. “I just want to know where I stand? Where we stand?” he corrects. “And I want to know that you know you can trust me.”

Louis’ brain isn’t thinking straight. How can Harry accuse him of holding back, when it is Harry who has been refusing to share himself with Louis? It is Harry who avoids every question and doesn’t trust Louis enough to tell him the first thing about his past. Not the other way around. 

And yet, it is Harry standing in front of Louis telling him that he likes him. That he really likes him. Offering up the sort of simple honesty which Louis has been too scared to give. Suddenly Louis is hit by the full force of Harry’s words, a huge but welcome blow to the heart. 

“You like me?” 

Harry nods. He is watching Louis intently, brow slightly furrowed, searching, always searching. He opens his mouth and closes it again before quietly saying, 

“I like you a lot. More than I can explain.” 

God, Harry is gorgeous.

In one swift motion Louis steps forward and catches him in a kiss. Harry seems momentarily taken aback, but it doesn’t take long for him to respond, parting his lips and wrapping his arms once more around Louis’ back, drawing him in. Louis deepens the kiss, feeling almost frantic as he brings his hands up to tangle in Harry’s curls, pushing him against the wall. Harry moans low in the back of his throat, and brings his hand up to stroke the line of Louis’ jaw, guiding their kisses as their tongues slide against each other, urgent and deep. 

After a minute or so, Louis pulls back, breathless, his lips tingling. Harry’s hair is messy and his pupils are wide and dark. He smiles tentatively. 

“I really like you too,” Louis says, tangling one hand back into Harry’s hair, drawing their faces close until their foreheads are touching. Harry’s answering grin might be just about the prettiest thing Louis has ever seen. 

“You do?” he asks hopefully. 

“I really do,” Louis nods. “I don’t know what this is between us anymore than you do. I just know that being with you makes me happier than I ever imagined possible.” Louis doesn’t know where these words are coming from, but he knows they are as true as any he has ever said. Harry laughs warmly, and presses another kiss against Louis’ lips. 

“Soooo…” Harry whispers, “we don’t know where we stand, except for the fact that we know that I really like you and you really like me?” Louis nods, bumping their noses together in the process. “And we make each other happier than either of us ever thought possible?” Louis nods again, allowing his smile to grow. He can feel his heart pounding so loudly in his chest he is sure the whole world must be able to hear it. “Louis… can I propose something?”

“Yes, Harry.” It’s an answer before the question has even been asked. They both know it but Harry asks anyway. 

“Be my boyfriend?” 

The fact that there is a part of Louis’ brain in which alarm bells are ringing is easy to ignore right now. He nods and laughs, mumbling his answer against his boyfriend’s lips, between kisses. 

“Ok.”

“Ok,” Harry echoes and kisses him back, through his smile. 

Louis should amend his earlier observation. This grin is the prettiest thing he has ever seen. 

***

After some time they re-enter the pub to find that Zayn has now arrived and is engrossed in close conversation with Liam. Niall spots them as they approach the bar and throws Louis a knowing look before passing them both a beer. 

“Where have you lads been? We were about to send out a search party!”

“We were literally just outside in the courtyard, so a search party would have been a highly unnecessary waste of resources and manpower,” replies Louis. He feels Harry’s hand come to rest on the small of his back, as the other lands cheerily on Niall’s shoulder. 

“Niall!” Harry says, “I’m buying you a pint.”

“Oh really?” Niall looks surprised but he doesn’t protest. 

“Yes I am. Dunno if you remember, when I first met you, you told me I could call you Nialler but only after I had bought you a pint. And I feel like the time to call you Nialler has come so…”

Niall looks confused for a moment before shrugging. Clearly he does not remember, but Harry looks so proud of himself as he goes up to the bar, it is adorable. 

“You’ve got yourself a good one there,” says Niall, “I like him.”

“You only like him because he buys you beer,” Louis teases. Niall laughs. 

“Well there is that. But also because ever since you met him, you’ve seemed a bit more like your old self again, which has been nice.” Niall smiles wistfully. Wow, ok. Louis wasn’t expecting that. 

When Harry shuffles back through the crowd, precariously, miraculously, managing to carry three full pints of beer in one hand, his phone out in the other, he has a huge grin on his face. Louis can relate.

“Can I get a picture of you guys?” he asks sheepishly, as Louis and Niall each take their beer from him. “I want to remember this day.”

“Of course,” Niall agrees readily, flinging his arm around Louis and smiling into the phone. Louis smiles too, although he directs his smile beyond the phone, to the boy holding it. 

“Now it’s my turn,” Niall declares just as Harry is putting his phone back into his pocket. “I want to get one of you two lovebirds!” 

Louis blushes. He hasn’t been very specific with his friends about what is going on between him and Harry, and has only just begun to let Harry kiss him in front of them, but to hear Niall refer to the two of them as _lovebirds_ makes him blush and sends his stomach into a flustering mess. Harry looks delighted and hands Niall his phone, before stepping next to Louis and placing his arm around him just as Niall had done. Niall frowns as he concentrates on the screen and then suddenly his eyes brighten and he looks up.

“Mistletoe!” he declares excitedly before pushing both Harry and Louis back a foot or so. Louis follows Niall’s eye-line and tugs on Harry’s waist, laughing, when he sees that Niall was indeed correct in his observation and has now lined them directly under a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the low ceiling of the pub. Niall looks infinitely pleased with himself as he raises the phone once again. 

When Harry sees the mistletoe he laughs brightly, and just as Niall sets off the flash, he swoops down to place a kiss to Louis’ cheek. Louis feels as though all his Christmases have come at once and by the time Liam and Zayn come over to join them, he has almost forgotten his earlier misgivings and the conversation in Dr Corden’s office. 

Almost.


	7. Chapter 7

This is all wrong. Louis can feel it. He’s all wrong and all fucked up and this isn’t how this was supposed to go. 

It’s been such a lovely evening. They’ve been out to dinner at a lovely little French restaurant, on Harry’s suggestion that they celebrate their one month anniversary as official boyfriend and boyfriend. Harry has been a perfect, charming gentleman all evening and they were laughing so hard in the restaurant that they had received several disapproving glares from their fellow diners, and Louis hadn’t even cared. Such is the incredible affect of Harry on him. 

And yet, here they are, back at Harry’s flat, and suddenly Louis finds that the soothing effect of the restaurant’s soporific candlelight has been replaced with a dull thrum of nerves. The two bottles of red wine they have consumed aren’t helping. Louis’ not drunk but his brain definitely feels more muddled than usual. Harry’s flat, normally so welcoming, suddenly feels stifling. The walls are too close to each other and although they are covered in photos, for all that they give Louis any clue into Harry’s life, they might as well be bare. 

Louis tries to shake off the thought, and concentrate on the feel of Harry’s lips against his own. They are sprawled on Harry’s mattress on the floor and their legs are entangled. Louis tries to focus on that, on the feel of Harry’s warm thigh against his, and his large hands coming down to grip Louis’ waist…. but this is the thing with Harry. He feels so safe and so quickly familiar, and yet the longer time has gone on, the more and more Louis has had the uneasy feeling that Harry is hiding himself from Louis. 

***

“Louis and I were known as the Terrible Twosome by our teachers at school, weren’t we Lou,” Liam had said one lazy Sunday afternoon near Christmas, over a game of Fifa and a conversation about nicknames. 

“We were. Although I’m pretty certain I can claim sole credit for that name. No offense Li, but without my corrupting influence you would have been teacher’s pet, no doubt about it.”

Harry laughed. His head was resting in Louis’ lap and his legs were stretched out along the sofa. The distracting way his warm cheek was pressed incredibly high up Louis’ thigh had been very much costing Louis the match. Not that Louis had particularly minded. 

“What about you Harry?” Liam asked. “Were you naughty or nice as a child?” 

“What he’s trying to ask is, on a scale of Liam to Louis how much of a nightmare were you?” Louis added. 

Harry laughed again and shrugged. 

“Dunno. Average probably.”

Of course Louis had come to expect non-committal responses of this kind. In fact as far as Harry answers go, this one could probably be categorised as pretty elucidating, but Liam had not been satisfied. 

“I bet you were one of those kids who misbehaved and then was so bloody charming that even the teacher’s couldn’t bring themselves to punish you!” Liam had said cheerily, while keeping his eyes glued to the screen. Harry hadn’t said anything. Louis had glanced down at him. There was silence for several minutes in which Liam and Louis had got wrapped up in their game before Liam had started up again.

“Did you have a best friend at school, like me and Louis?” 

Louis tensed up, annoyed by Liam’s total lack of subtlety. Obviously Liam was one hundred percent oblivious to any need for subtlety and to Louis’ own many failed attempts to glean this sort of information but still, Louis felt irrationally pissed off at Liam and glanced down at Harry again who hadn’t moved. 

“Not really,” he said after a few moments. His voice was light enough but even Liam must have sensed that something was off because he didn’t ask any further questions. 

Louis was also none the wiser as to Harry’s family, although he was starting to realise that even if they did exist, they certainly didn’t have a very big presence in Harry’s life. Christmas had been revealing in that respect. 

Nothing was said on the topic for days and as Christmas drew nearer it had started to play on Louis’ mind. Harry had made no mention of his plans, of time off work, of anything in fact until finally there had been an awkward discussion in which Louis had half invited Harry to spend Christmas with his family in Doncaster, although with the proviso that, seeing as he wasn’t out to his family, Harry would have to pass for nothing more than a friend. 

“As much as I am delighted at the invite I don’t think I could convince anyone for even a second that I wasn’t madly gone for you,” Harry had smirked. “So it’s probably for the best that Ed has just asked if I’ll join him in New York over Christmas.”

“Wow! New York?”

“Yeah, I know! He’s got some gigs lined up out there but it means he has to be there for Christmas and he’s offered to fly me out. To remind him of home and all.”

Louis had felt guilty that a part of him was a little relieved. It wasn’t that he wasn’t proud of Harry. It was just that he didn’t think his family were especially proud of _him_ and he didn’t feel ready to give them further cause for disappointment just yet. Although Christmas with Harry… cuddles with Harry by the fire, Harry tipsy on eggnog and Harry in a Santa hat, well that did all sound rather delightful and Louis thought it was a shame to be missing out…

At that moment, Louis had also experienced his first real flare of jealousy. He knew Harry and Ed were nothing more than good friends, but still, the idea of Harry being in New York with Ed, and Louis being far away in Donny with a house full of screaming kids and a mother who didn’t understand him anymore, well, it pretty much sucked balls. To add insult to injury, Louis wondered to himself when exactly Harry had been planning on mentioning the trip. Considering how close it was already to Christmas… what if he hadn’t asked? What was Harry going to do, send him a text from the plane?

“So you’re not going to Holmes Chapel then?” he had asked as casually as he could. 

“Hmm? Oh, nah,” Harry had shaken his head distractedly, “I’ve always wanted to go to New York. Take some photos and stuff. It’s going to be amazing.” Louis’ hesitancy must have shown on his face because Harry quickly added, “And the best bit of all, Ed tried to persuade me to stay a full week until New Year’s but I insisted on him getting me on an earlier flight home. So I’ll only be gone for four days, which means I’ll be here waiting for you when you get back from Doncaster. I’m not seeing in the New Year without you, no way!” At that, Louis had beamed and all doubts had momentarily escaped him. How he had managed to find such an incredible boyfriend he would never know. 

A few days after Christmas, when they had all been happily reunited at the house to celebrate a late Christmas Rowntree Avenue style, Eleanor had remarked in passing that a friend of hers from Manchester had asked after the curly haired boy in her photos on Facebook. The girl had been sure he looked familiar. 

“Maybe you know her?” 

After a beat Harry had shaken his head, and laughed saying that he wasn’t sure how he felt about being Facebook stalked by random people, and that this was exactly why he wasn’t on Facebook at all. His voice had been uneasy and Louis would be damned if he hadn’t noticed the sheer look of horror that had flashed across his face. 

Ok. So Harry’s past is a no-go. Louis had tried to shrug it off, to tell himself he was fine with it and to respect Harry’s privacy. And sometimes it had seemed almost silly for Louis to doubt Harry at all, when he laughed so openly at himself and the world. Surely Harry of all people had nothing to hide. He seemed to share with Louis every passing thought like an eager child. 

“Where do all the ducks go during the winter?” he had asked on one of their many strolls around Clapham Common. Louis had looked around in confusion, but had been unable to locate any body of water which may have inspired such a question. He had sighed, and tried not to let his fondness show anymore than he could possibly help. 

“I don’t know Harry, where do ducks go during winter?” 

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you!” 

“Oh,” Louis frowned, “you mean that wasn't the start of one of your hilariously not-funny jokes?” 

Harry poked his tongue out at Louis, and pinched his side. Louis yelped in a manner more feminine than he would care to admit.

“No, that was a serious legitimate philosophical question posed by a book I read once, and I wanted your serious legitimate opinion on the matter.” Harry had pouted for good effect, and Louis had been unable to refrain from pulling Harry down by the collar of his coat to kiss the pout off of his face. 

“Sorry Haz,” he laughed against Harry’s mouth, which had turned from pout to wide grin with very little effort on Louis’ part, “I don’t know where the ducks go. But I’m sure wherever they are they’re happy.” 

“I hope so,” Harry had murmured before kissing Louis for the millionth time that afternoon. 

And although neither of them had said _those_ three words - Louis could barely even comprehend the idea of those three words - there had been that time, at New Year’s.

“Does it ever just amaze you,” Harry had said in an awed whisper “how quickly life can change? Like one minute it’s all meh, and then the next…” Harry grasped around for the right words, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, a gorgeously curly-haired, slightly tipsy goldfish. “I mean just last year I…” he shrugged, “and now I…” 

“You know you haven’t actually finished a single one of those sentences?” Louis teased, turning his head to attempt to nip at the side of Harry’s face. His back was pressed against Harry’s front, who had wrapped his arms and coat around Louis in an attempt to simultaneously keep him warm and keep them both together despite the almost violent jostling of a very merry London crowd, gathered by the river Thames to watch the annual New Year’s firework display. 

“It’s because I don’t know how to explain this feeling.” Harry’s breath warmed Louis’ ear and he pulled him closer. They joined the crowds in counting down to welcome in the New Year. Niall’s counting beside them was so enthusiastic and loud he seemed almost to be leading the countdown himself. Eleanor was on the other side of Louis, tucked into Max’s side, and Liam and Zayn were just ahead, arms happily around each other, beer bottles in the air. As the New Year rolled in, and the sky burst into a thousand sparks of colour, and Harry kissed Louis as though he were the only person in the world who mattered, everything had felt right. 

“I’ve figured out how to explain it,” Harry had whispered to Louis moments later. “It’s like these fireworks. One minute everything is dark and still and it feels as if it will be that way forever, and the next it’s so full of colour and light that you almost forget what it looked like before. That’s you Louis Tomlinson. You came into my life like fireworks into the night sky.” 

_Like fireworks into the night sky._

It had almost felt like a confession, the way Harry had said it softly against Louis’ ear, hot breath tickling cold skin. 

But fireworks fade as quickly as they appear and leave the darkness even blacker than before. Louis hopes Harry had not been thinking of that when he had compared Louis to them. Louis hopes many things since he met Harry. 

The next morning, when Harry had taken a photo of a half-asleep Louis, wrapped up in crisp bed sheets, eyes squinting against the first light of a new year, he had refused to let Louis see it. And when Louis had asked, not for the first time, if he could see Harry’s Tumblr, Harry had shaken his head. 

“My Tumblr is so anonymous _I’m_ not even sure which one it is,” he had teased infuriatingly. 

“I’ll tell you which one yours is,” Louis mumbled grumpily into the covers, the certainty of the night before a distant memory, “the one with all the random pieces of furniture and bananas judging from half the rubbish you take photos of.” 

The look on Harry’s face was unreadable, and he simply shrugged in response. Ok, so it had come out more harshly than Louis had intended, but it ruffled him intensely that despite everything Harry said, despite all his fancy talk about fireworks and night skies, he didn’t even trust Louis enough to show him the gazillion photos he took, even when a bunch of them were of him… 

***

“Lou?” Harry’s voice pierces through Louis’ tangled mish-mash of thoughts. “Babe, are you OK?” Right. Anniversary. Harry’s flat. Kissing. Louis is so totally on it. 

“I’m fine,” he nods. 

“It’s just, you seem a little distracted.” Harry is frowning and his eyes are so concerned Louis wants to melt in them. 

“I just,” Louis shakes his head, “sorry. I think I’m just a bit tired. But don’t stop…” Suddenly Louis has a thought. Maybe Harry isn’t sharing himself with Louis because Louis isn’t sharing himself with Harry. It had crossed his mind in the restaurant and now that they’re here it makes even more sense. Harry has given Louis such a romantic evening, it’s only fair that Louis returns the favour. 

He suddenly lunges at Harry, a little clumsily and more violently than he had intended. He crashes their mouths together and pulls Harry close, pushing his leg between Harry’s thighs, forcing him to open his legs wider. Harry makes a startled noise at the back of his throat, struck by Louis’ sudden change of mood. 

“Let’s have sex,” Louis lets out before he is quite sure of what he is saying. 

“Wh..what?” Harry pulls back from Louis, frowning in confusion. 

“Don’t… don’t you want to?” Louis’ unexpected surge of confidence is over almost as quickly as it has begun. 

“Of course I do, I just… I just thought you didn’t want this to be about sex. I thought…” Harry looks away and hesitates for a moment. God, Louis feels like a fool. Harry looks as if he is about to say something else, but bites his lip at the last minute and frowns instead. There is a palpable air of tension between them which has a streak of something new in it. Mistrust perhaps. It’s ugly and it’s Louis’ fault. 

“It’s fine. You don’t want to have sex with me.” Louis shrugs and begins to pull away from Harry. He doesn’t feel hurt or angry or confused or relieved or… anything. He doesn’t feel anything. But he doesn’t want to hear Harry try and comfort him and make up excuses either. So his boyfriend doesn’t want to have sex with him. That’s fine. 

He doesn’t know what expression to wear on his face. He can feel Harry’s eyes on him and right now he wants to squirm under their intense gaze. Instead he rolls onto his side, his back to Harry. 

“It’s OK Harry, you don’t have to explain yourself.”

“Lou,” Harry’s voice is timid, “of course I want to have sex with you. You’re the hottest man I’ve ever seen.” He let’s out a soft, half-laugh. “God, I’d be crazy if I didn’t want it. You’re… gorgeous! You just surprised me, that’s all. I just thought that you, I mean, well I thought maybe…” Harry sighs in frustration and Louis feels him shift closer. Louis doesn’t say anything, and eventually Harry speaks again. 

“God Louis, this is crazy. I want to have sex with you alright.” Louis snorts softly, suddenly overcome by a horrible wave of self-loathing. This doesn’t feel right. Harry places a tentative hand on Louis’ hip. His voice is low, and cautious, as though he is feeling his way through his words.

“Do you have any idea how much I’ve imagined sleeping with you? You’re so sexy it’s ridiculous and every time I see you I want you more and more. Sometimes it’s all I can do to keep my hands off of you when other people are around.” His voice brushes against Louis’ ear, his warm body is pressed flush against him. “I’ve been wanting this so much, but I just wasn’t sure if you wanted it, or if you were ready, and I didn’t want to push you…” 

Still Louis says nothing, but his bout of self-loathing is melting away at Harry’s soothing words and his heart has increased the rate of its beating threefold. 

“But, my god, I want you,” Harry continues. “Don’t you dare think for a second that I don’t because I want you more than anything else in this world. I’m sorry I made you doubt that,” he adds, his voice little more than a whisper. 

Louis turns over slowly, relishing the movement of Harry’s palm across his hip as he turns to face him. His chest feels as though it just might burst. Harry does want him? Like, in that way? One look at Harry’s wide pupils and sincere expression convinces Louis that it’s true. Harry wants him. The last remnants of mistrust trickle away, replaced by a new determination. 

If Harry wants him, Harry can have him. It’s the least Harry deserves for being so patient and wonderful, and maybe this way Louis can show Harry that he can open up to him too. Maybe. 

“You can have me,” Louis whispers. Harry lets out a sharp breath, almost a moan, before closing his eyes. 

“Really?” he says. 

Louis kisses him. Harry opens his eyes. 

“Yes.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Louis nods vigorously, making sure to look Harry straight in the eye.

Harry grins widely, his lips sinfully pink. He leans forward and kisses Louis again, this time with intent, letting his hand roam across Louis’ body, his hip, his back, his stomach, gently kneading his skin. His fingers begin to slip under Louis’ belt. 

Louis curls into Harry and kisses back. He feels sick with nerves and his breathing is erratic and shallow. They are really doing this? He can feel Harry’s hand heading southwards. Ok yep. But this is good. This is right. Yes. This is what makes sense. They are boyfriends and this is what boyfriends do.

“You ok?” Harry asks softly, pausing briefly and bringing his hand to cup Louis’ chin. A flash of doubt. Oh shit. Louis must not be doing this right. He needs to be more convincing. Ok.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “yeah I’m good babe, don’t stop.” That seems to be all the encouragement Harry needs to pick up where he left off. Louis focuses on Harry and the feel of his luxuriously soft and gentle lips. Louis keeps repeating to himself over and over again that he is safe. This is Harry. His Harry. Harry is safe and nice and good. This is completely different to before. 

Dr Corden’s words also swim across Louis’ mind. _You know you have never had sex._ Right, it’s not the same. This is new. _This_ is going to be good. Louis is determined. 

He pulls Harry across his body, to lie directly above him. Harry shifts eagerly, and the weight of him against Louis’ body feels quite nice. He’s warm and he’s broad and he’s absolutely the hottest man Louis has ever seen. Ok, Louis can do this. Just breathe. 

Harry’s hands start to roam more eagerly, dipping tantalisingly beneath the waistline of Louis’ boxers, fingertips just skimming the start of dark course hair, before coming back out to draw a long line up the inner seam of Louis’ jeans. Wow, ok. This is actually pretty… hot. 

Louis’ senses spring into action. He feels tingly, like spring waking up after a long winter. He feels warm beneath the heavy weight of Harry, whose musky cologne is making Louis hazy with desire. Louis lets his hands wander across Harry’s broad back, and come up to play with the hem of his shirt. Suddenly, wordlessly, Harry sits back on his heels, unbuttoning his shirt one by one, never breaking his gaze with Louis. Ok, so this is definitely really happening. Breathe, Louis, breathe. 

Louis feels Harry brush against the outline of his cock, which Louis realises with a start is half-hard. He hasn’t been hard around Harry before. In fact he hasn’t been hard around anyone for almost a year. So this must mean that he wants this, he thinks determinedly. It must. 

Harry’s eyes are blown wide with lust and he lets out a groan as he cups Louis in his hand and begins to stroke him through his jeans. His other hand, by Louis' head, is supporting his own weight and he places one more peck against Louis’ lips before lifting his head to look at him. His hand is still moving, building up pace and Louis can feel that he is getting harder. He lets out a soft moan to let Harry know that he’s ok. 

Harry is searching his face. Oh god. Harry is searching his face so intently one might be mistaken for thinking the secret to world peace were hidden on it. No Harry no, Louis thinks desperately, arching his back to push his cock further into Harry’s hand. Why is Harry’s hand slowing? Why is he frowning? This is all wrong. 

Louis wants to speak but the words stick in his throat. Harry is gazing down at him so softly it hurts, and suddenly something in him cracks. He wants this in theory, he does. He trusts Harry. More than he ever thought he could trust another human being ever again. But even so, he’s scared. He’s so scared that it will feel like it did before. Even though he knows Harry would never intentionally hurt him, he can’t bear to risk it. Not just yet. Not when everything about Harry is so perfect. The idea of Harry being in anyway associated with his attacker in his own mind, terrifies him. What if Louis does it wrong, and it hurts him like it did before, and what if Harry doesn’t realise, and just keeps going and going until…

Louis’ chest tightens up painfully. He feels his cock going soft. He can’t bear to look into Harry’s eyes anymore, which are so kind and gentle, and so filled with hope. He turns his head away from Harry, his cheek resting on the cool pillow. He feels as if he’s about to cry. 

“It’s OK babe.” Harry’s soft soothing voice washes over him and Louis squeezes his eyes shut to hold back the tears.

“Hey Lou, please look at me,” Harry sounds as though he’s talking to a child. He’s so gentle, so tender that Louis’ heart physically aches. “Are you alright?”

Slowly he turns his head, to stare up at Harry once again. Harry’s concerned eyes hold a question, but behind that, Louis sees a deeper layer of understanding. Harry understands him. God knows how, when Louis doesn’t understand Louis most of the time, but here Harry is, bringing up a hand to wipe away a single tear as it rolls down Louis’ cheek, and he just looks like he understands. 

“I’m so sorr…” Louis begins but is interrupted by Harry placing a finger against his lips, his eyes warm.

“Shhh now. Never ever apologise, my beautiful blue-eyed boy. It’s OK. It’s OK now and it will always be OK.”

Louis doesn’t even know what he had been going to apologise for. For not being able to have sex? For crying about it now? For generally not being good enough for Harry? Whatever he was going to say, Harry’s words hit him in a great wave of realisation. 

This. This is why Harry is so wonderful, because he tells Louis that its OK, that Louis is going to be OK, and he means it, and he says it with so much conviction that Louis begins to believe him. 

“OK” Louis nods quietly, caught up in Harry’s gaze. Harry smiles at him then, reassuringly, before dipping his head down gently to press one soft kiss to the corner of Louis’ mouth. 

“You’re beautiful,” Harry whispers softly against his cheek, before pressing another kiss to his lips. He goes to pull away again, but Louis paws at Harry’s chest, suddenly desperate to kiss him again, needing to pour everything into that kiss. They kiss deeply for a few moments, tongues urgently pushing into each other’s mouths, writing out everything unspoken between them, before Louis breaks away and stares intently into Harry’s eyes, willing him to understand exactly what he is trying to say. He thinks perhaps he does. 

***

Louis cries himself to sleep, silently as though hoping Harry won’t hear him. Harry doesn’t hear him, but he does feel the heavy sobs fall out of Louis in small erratic shudders, as he holds him close, Louis’ back pressed along his stomach, his chin tucked into Louis’ ruffled hair, his broad hands pressed against Louis’ chest, protecting his heart.

Harry’s own heart is in tatters. He can’t bear to see Louis like this, so afraid and so very very sad. The look in his eyes had been heart breaking. Shame. As though somehow he doesn’t think he is good enough for Harry when in reality it is the other way around. Harry hugs him tighter, and buries his chin further into Louis’ hair, his lips pressing a continuous kiss into the back of his head. He can hear Louis’ breathing now, slow and deep as he sleeps. Harry wants to envelope him forever, hide him from this cruel world, a world which has put such pain into a beautiful boy’s eyes. Harry doesn’t know how long he lies like that, willing the sadness out of Louis, but by the time he finally drifts off, the sun is beginning to rise. 

***

When Louis wakes the next morning he can hear Harry’s soft snores. For a split-second Louis can kid himself that this is a normal morning, with the buzz of London traffic and the chatter of children on their way to school, drifting up through the window. But he can also feel Harry’s morning erection pressed against the bottom of his spine, and with a sinking feeling the events of last night come rushing back to him and with them the shame. 

What must Harry think of him? After everything Harry had done, all the effort he had put into making it the perfect romantic night, and Louis had ruined it all by not being able to do something as simple as have sex with his boyfriend. Louis snorts internally at the idea. What kind of boyfriend refuses to have sex? What kind of boyfriend cries just at the prospect of it? Louis feels so ashamed he can feel his cheeks burning even now at the thought. And he can’t even blame it on the wine. He wants to kick himself. What if this was it? What if this was his one chance to make things OK with Harry and he blew it by being too much of a coward? Maybe he should have just manned up and done it, and even if it had been horrible it would have been worth it to make Harry happy. 

Harry wriggles slightly in his sleep, and his arm, which is flung lightly over Louis, tightens. Suddenly Louis feels suffocated. He knows Harry would argue with him if he could hear his thoughts, and Louis knows it himself, that it wouldn’t make Harry happy to have sex with Louis if he knew it was hurting him. Louis fancies himself a good actor but he’s not sure he is _that_ good. Especially not with Harry.

But this surely doesn’t make Harry happy either. Having to comfort his pathetic mess of a boyfriend when he could be out having fun and having a sex-life with normal people who actually want to be having sex. Louis doesn’t know how Harry still has the patience for him, but he knows at this point it must be wearing thin. Sure last night Harry had told Louis it was OK, because Harry is a decent guy and of course that’s what he would say, and Louis had momentarily believed him, but... 

How selfish Louis is being! This isn’t fair on Harry. None of this is fair on Harry. Louis slowly wriggles free from Harry’s embrace, who murmurs and frowns slightly at the loss of contact but continues to sleep. Ever so quietly he gets out of bed, and tip-toes across the room to gather his coat and shoes and wallet, which are scattered across Harry’s tiny flat. With a pang, Louis wonders if he will ever see this flat again, before he pushes the thought down and concentrates on getting ready as quickly and silently as possible. His heart is racing somewhere around his throat and he hardly dares to breathe for fear of waking Harry. He can’t face him.

He considers leaving a note but he doesn’t know what he would say. Harry will probably be angry at first, maybe even sad that Louis left without saying goodbye, but this way he’ll be better off in the long run… 

But no. He can’t say nothing. He should but he can’t. Frustrated by his own weakness, he rummages around on Harry’s desk until he finds a pen, and he rips out a page of Harry’s notepad. What to write? His message turns out very short and oddly formal, and he has no idea if it conveys what it is supposed to. He leaves it on the desk on top of all Harry’s million and one sheets of scribbled lines of poetry and doodles. What precious little pieces of Harry they are, he thinks, allowing himself a moment to linger over them. 

He pauses again as he reaches the door and casts one more glance at the sleeping boy. His chest is gloriously tanned against the white sheets. His mouth is slightly open and his arm is still stretched out as though trying to reach for Louis to come back to him. Louis wants to, he wants to so badly he almost does. It takes every ounce of will power in him to wrench his eyes away, repeating to himself over and over that this is what is best for Harry, which is the only thought giving Louis the strength to leave. He turns the doorknob slowly and opens it. The dark and dingy staircase awaits him. Behind him is Harry, but he daren’t look back again. He hears the door shut behind him with a loud crack.

***

Harry is woken by the sharp click of his door. His eyes shoot open and he lies for a second in utter confusion. He feels cold, and he realises with a twinge of disappointment that Louis is no longer lying next to him. After a few seconds in which his brain begins to wake-up he looks around and realises that Louis’ stuff is gone as well. He sits up with a jolt.

“Lou?” he says tentatively into the room. And then again louder, “Louis?” 

Despite the shrill shriek of children and the gruff cries of workmen in the road below his window, the silence that meets him speaks volumes. Louis has gone. 

He checks his phone. There are no messages except from Ed. Harry scrambles out of bed as fast as he can, and rushes around searching for his keys and wallet, knocking a whole stack of papers off his desk in the process. He panics when he can’t find his travel card but then he realises, if he was woken by his door opening and closing, Louis must still be nearby. He is frantically stuffing his feet into his shoes, ready to chase Louis down the street if need be, when suddenly he stops dead in his tracks. 

What if running after Louis makes things worse? What if it is Harry’s fault that Louis has gone? Harry had thought he was making it clear to Louis that he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to, but obviously not. He had made him cry!

Oh god. Harry slumps back down onto his mattress as the truth hits him like a tonne of bricks. He had made Louis cry. He had known that Louis was scared about the whole sex thing. He knows, although Louis has never trusted him enough to tell him, that Louis has had a bad experience somewhere along the way which has made him like this, and yet there was Harry, blithely disregarding all of this and pushing Louis to do something he obviously wasn’t ready to do. How dare he resent Louis for not trusting him when clearly he wasn’t to be trusted.

Harry hangs his head in his hands. Although he hasn’t cried in years, he feels as though he might, but the utter shame stays his tears. He has no right to cry. This is all his fault. Harry of all people knows the cruelty of pushing someone into doing something they don’t want to. He knows the fear of being pushed, the loss of control, the loss of body, the humiliation. 

And he did that to Louis. To his darling, beautiful, lovely Louis and now he is getting what he deserves. Harry has never been so disgusted with himself and that's really saying something. Surely he can’t be turning into _him_ , please god, he just can’t. All these years, he has always wondered how much of the monster is in him. And now he knows. 

He feels physically sick. The illusions of the past few months are being painfully stripped away. Of course, this is Harry’s life. In Harry’s life good things don’t stay for very long, despite how much Harry loves them, despite how much Harry tries to be good enough to deserve them. His breathing has become erratic, pouring out of him in huge dry sobs. Panic is pressing in at his temples, making his world go dark. 

Harry realises with a painful stab that he can’t ever go after Louis. Not as long as there is a danger that he might hurt him again. Louis has done the right thing, getting away. In the long run this is better. Harry knows it but it doesn’t stop the huge ache in his chest, where he feels as though his heart has been smashed to smithereens. He lies down and curls into a tight ball, wrapping himself up in his duvet, which still smells of Louis, and shutting out the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter up next week. If you enjoyed please let me know by leaving kudos as they make me very happy and mean a lot! 
> 
> And come visit me at [my Tumblr page](http://happilylarreh.tumblr.com/). Thank you for reading xx


	8. Chapter 8

“Lou? Is that you?” Louis hears Liam’s voice call out from the sitting room as he closes the door behind him. He doesn’t answer, instead hanging up his coat and scarf and padding quietly up the stairs towards his room. 

“Louis?” This time Liam’s head appears round the doorframe, stopping Louis in his tracks and Louis reckons ignoring him is no longer a viable option. 

“Hi,” he says, gearing himself up for a conversation he isn’t ready to have. 

“Are you ok?” Liam is peering at Louis’ face with a confused look on his own. “Have you been crying?” 

Louis shakes his head fiercely. He wants to say that he’s fine but he’s worried if he tries to speak the tears might flow again. It took forty five minutes of wandering around the streets behind his house just to calm himself enough to face going inside. 

“Lou, what’s happened?” Liam’s voice is so gentle and concerned Louis wants to punch him. Instead he feels his face crumple hideously and destroy forty five minutes worth of effort. Tears blur his vision and streak down his cheeks. His knees weaken beneath his body and he thinks he might fall except for how Liam is clutching at him now, holding him up, speaking soothing words which Louis doesn’t hear over the sound of his own heart breaking. 

Soon he feels himself being guided towards his room, Liam’s protective arms around him. He is still sobbing huge gut wrenching sobs, punctuated by painful hiccoughs.

“It’s… over.” 

He forces out the words and then cries again when he hears himself say them. Liam sits him down on the bed. 

“Oh Lou, I’m… I’m so sorry.” He is rubbing calming circles into the small of Louis’ back and he presses a kiss onto Louis’ shoulder before resting his head there. 

Eventually Louis’ breathing becomes less erratic. His sobs are replaced with small snuffles and the occasional loud hiccough. The weight of Liam’s head buried into his neck grounds him somehow. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Liam asks tentatively after several minutes, his breath tickling Louis’ collarbone. Louis shakes his head dully. His tears have run dry and so has his energy. 

He feels drained. Empty. Numb. 

He pulls away from Liam, not daring to look at his face and see the pity there. He kicks off his shoes and flops down on his bed, lying on his side and staring blanky at the wall ahead. Liam places a comforting hand on his ankle. Louis is torn between screaming at him to get out and leave him alone forever, or clinging desperately to him and begging him never to let go. He compromises and does nothing.

Several more long minutes pass and he chances a glance at Liam’s face. Liam is watching him carefully and gives a small, sad smile when Louis catches his eye. 

“You know I’m here for you right?” he says. Louis nods, turning his gaze back to the wall. He was right. The pity is too much. 

“We’re all here for you. We all love you.” 

Louis nods again and closes his eyes. A minute more passes before he feels Liam shift on the bed and let go of his ankle. When Louis opens his eyes Liam is standing above him. 

“Shall I let you sleep? You look exhausted,” he says. Louis shrugs. “Or I can stay here if you’d prefer.” Liam sounds so earnest that Louis musters the last remaining dregs of energy within him to answer.

“No, s’okay. M’gonna sleep.” 

Liam nods, and makes towards the door. 

“Thanks,” Louis mumbles, offering a weak smile which Liam turns just in time to catch. 

“S’what friends are for,” Liam says simply before leaving with a soft thud of the door. 

Louis doesn’t change out of his jeans. He doesn’t get under the covers. He doesn’t even change position.

When he hears Niall get back from his lectures he knows it must be gone midday. When he hears Eleanor returning he knows it must be gone one. He has work at two. The arm he is lying on is so dead underneath him that it is painful. 

Hushed voices float outside his door before fading into the living room. Louis wonders dully if the worry in those voices is aimed at him. He suspects so. 

At one thirty he hears a gentle knock. 

“Louis?” Eleanor’s voice. “Are you awake?” Louis intends to answer but he must be slow in doing so because soon Eleanor is knocking again, a little louder. “Louis? I’m sorry to disturb you, it’s just, don’t you have work this afternoon? I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Louis doesn’t care whether or not he gets into trouble but a small voice in his brain reminds him that he probably still needs to eat and losing his job isn’t exactly an option. He drags himself up, attempting to shake out his dead arm, and calls to Eleanor. 

“I’m up. Thanks.”

He changes into his work clothes and emerges in the kitchen a few minutes later. He feels kind of blank all of a sudden. 

“How are you?” Eleanor asks softly as he enters. She is resting against the kitchen counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. Louis shrugs. “Do you want a cup of tea? I thought it might do you good.”

Louis shrugs again. Eleanor clearly takes that as a yes and hands him a mug, just as Niall appears in the doorway.

“You alright Tommo?” Niall’s voice is uncharacteristically gentle and the mug Eleanor has handed him happens to be the green frog one which Harry always likes to use. 

Liked. 

Eleanor doesn’t say anything when he puts it down on the counter without taking a sip. 

“Liam told us,” says Niall. His words are heavy. 

Suddenly a switch flips in Louis and his blankness is replaced with anger. How dare his friends behave like this around him? He’s not dying for fuck’s sake!

He doesn’t say anything though. He can’t muster the energy and he knows deep down it wouldn’t be fair to take it out on them. Still, the sight of Niall’s face, all warped into an expression of concern makes Louis want to. 

“I’ve got to go to work,” he says brusquely and pushes his way past Niall with more force than is necessary.

It’s not until he gets out the door that he checks his phone. A fresh wave of sadness hits him when he sees that he has no texts and no missed calls. Nothing. 

Clearly, he was right. Harry is so much better off without him, and Harry must have realised it too. 

***

_Dude! What’s going on? You alright? Answer the phone._

Harry reads the text through squinty eyes before locking his phone and rolling back over. He’s kind of hungry. He hasn’t eaten anything in twenty-four hours. He could go and get food. 

_Harry, pick up your fucking phone. Seriously, dude._

Harry still hasn’t got food. He looks at the clock. It’s 2.38pm. He does the calculations in his head. It’s approximately three days, six hours and eight minutes since Louis walked out of his flat. 

_Please? X_

Three days, six hours and nine minutes. 

At around five the hunger becomes too much and he drags himself out of bed. He has some cereal out of a half-opened box, without milk because the milk in his fridge smells rank. 

_Harry? I’m worried about you. Can you just let me know you’re ok?_

He sighs and shoves another handful of cereal into his mouth as his phone buzzes on his bed for what feels like the billionth time that week. He really should reply and apologise for missing Ed’s gig last night. He had meant to go but when the time had come around he hadn’t found the motivation to shower and get changed and before he knew it, it was midnight. Eventually the guilt is enough to drag him across the room and pick up his phone.

_I’m coming over. You better fucking answer the door. X_

Sent twelve minutes ago, meaning Ed is probably already on his way. Harry lies down on his mattress and waits for the buzzer to go off. He glances around his flat, cringing at the prospect of Ed seeing it in such a state.

***

 

“Where’s Liam?” 

“He said something about staying over late at his _study partner’s_ house.” Louis frowns at Eleanor’s use of air quotes.

It’s been almost exactly one week since Louis walked out of Harry’s flat and out of his life. He hasn’t heard anything from Harry. Or Ed. Or Zayn for that matter which is probably unconnected but still seems odd. 

“What do you mean study partner?” 

“Well,” she smirks, “he’s supposedly been doing a shitload of “studying” at this _study partner’s_ house of late, and yet earlier today I overheard him complaining on the phone to someone that he is seriously behind on his work this week.” She is casually sprawled out across the sofa, one eye on her toenails which she is painting in a green colour hideously close to the colour of Harry’s eyes, and one eye on The Voice, which Louis considers an abomination of a show and not a patch on The X Factor. He scowls at the TV and grumbles under his breath.

“Maybe that’s why he needs to stay late, to catch up.” Louis feels irrationally annoyed by Eleanor’s insinuation and her oh-so-knowing tone. It shames him to admit it but he has spent the past week, make that year, so wrapped up in his own self-pity that he hasn’t exactly been paying attention to anyone else. Had Liam mentioned something? Surely something as big as him seeing someone wouldn’t have escaped Louis’ notice? Liam’s never had a proper boyfriend, despite being out to Louis longer than Louis has been out to him. 

“Well, all I’ll say is this: he came home around 8am this morning just as I was getting out the shower, and I swear to god he was trying to cover up a lovebite!” 

Louis resolutely ignores the rush of jealousy which wells up in him at the thought that whilst he is curled up alone in bed, crying himself to sleep for what feels like the millionth night in a row, Liam is getting lovebites from random, mystery lovebite givers.

On the other hand maybe this will be good for him. Engaging with Liam’s love-life, or at least potential love-life, will hopefully help Louis forget his own and make him a better, less self-absorbed friend in the process.

“Do you have any idea who this study partner is?” he asks. 

“Nope. No clue.”

“Hmmm…” Louis frowns down at his phone, as if hoping that Liam might magically text him at that moment to tell him who he is with and to reassure him that, no, he’s not a terrible friend. 

Instead he has an email from Dr Corden, presumably chasing him up on why he didn’t show up to their session today. 

Harry still hasn’t text. 

Every time he looks at his phone he realises it anew and it hurts just as much as the time before. More in fact, because each minute that passes is a minute further away from Harry. A minute longer spent living a life without Harry. Louis wonders whether it would have been better if they had never met. He wasn’t happy before he met Harry. But surely he didn’t have this incessant gnawing at his heart every day, this physical ache in his chest and in his bones? Surely it didn’t hurt this bad? 

He can’t quite remember. 

“…be something special.”

“Huh?” Louis stares up from his phone, realising he has completely missed what Eleanor’s been saying. How long did he blank out? 

Eleanor frowns for a second and then her face softens into understanding sympathy. It’s a look Louis is thoroughly sick of. 

“I was saying whoever it is Liam’s seeing, they must be pretty special to keep him from his studies.”

“Oh… yeah,” Louis agrees lamely, shoving his phone into his pocket. He stares at the TV screen and tries to focus on The Voice. Suddenly he doesn’t want to be speaking to anyone. 

Eleanor glances between the TV and Louis, and Louis can feel her itching to ask. He sighs. 

“Can you stop looking at me like someone’s died please? I’m fine.” 

“Ok, ok… sorry,” Eleanor holds up her hands in mock surrender, almost flinging green nail polish onto the sofa in the process. “Can I ask?” she asks gently.

“Ask what?” Louis knows very well what. 

“Have you spoken to him?” 

Louis frowns at the TV. 

“No.”

Eleanor sighs as she picks up the remote and presses mute.

“Louis, what happened? What did he do?” 

Suddenly Louis feels weak with exhaustion. All week he has warded off questions from Eleanor and Niall– Liam has known better than to ask – with angry glares and stony silences but right now, he thinks maybe he should just tell them. At least then they’ll stop asking. 

“He didn’t do anything. It was me. I was the one who left.”

“What?” Eleanor’s mouth is open and she has paused, mid-toenail, so that green varnish drips slowly onto her foot. “But I thought you really liked him?”

“I did.” Louis bites at his bottom lip. He should say “I do,” but there’s no point.

“So why did you leave him?” Eleanor’s voice has dropped a level, as though she is talking to a sick person, or someone she cares for deeply but considers slightly unhinged. Maybe that’s what Louis is. 

“I wasn’t right for him,” he shrugs. “I can’t give him… I… He deserves better.” He hopes that the finality in his voice will be an end to the conversation. 

“Does he know that’s why you left him?” Eleanor’s eyes are narrowed. The glare from the silent TV casts strange colours on the white wall behind her. 

“I’m sure he’s figured it out by now,” Louis mumbles, refusing to meet her gaze. For a moment she says nothing and just as Louis is starting to become unsettled by her uncharacteristic silence he feels the full force of a scratchy and surprisingly heavy cushion hit him in the face.

“LOUIS!” Eleanor half yells, half whines. 

“Erm, ouch?”

“Oh my god Louis, seriously? You mean to tell me that he did nothing wrong but you just _decided_ that he would be better off without you, without checking whether or not he agreed?”

“It’s… I couldn’t… It’s more complicated than that,” Louis protests. Eleanor’s summation of the whole affair, whilst not technically incorrect, nevertheless completely one hundred percent misses the point. 

“Well sure, of course. Except that it’s not complicated at all is it?” Her voice isn’t cruel. She is simply stating a fact as she sees it. 

This, Louis thinks to himself, is why there is no point talking about any of this with his friends. They don’t get it. They can’t get it. 

Eleanor tries to probe him further, her voice modulating between great patience and obvious frustration but after a while she gives up. Louis pretends to watch The Voice and when he notices that the credits are rolling he mutters a goodnight and heads to bed. Eleanor’s goodnight is tentative and she watches him sheepishly as he leaves the room. Clearly she thinks he is pissed off at her. 

He clambers into his bed. He’s not really pissed off with Eleanor. He’s pissed off at everyone, at the whole stinking, fucking stupid world, but most of all at himself for being him. 

The sheets are too cold and the crack in the light from the hallway underneath his door is bugging him. He wonders if Harry is lying in bed awake as well, on the other side of London. It might as well be the other side of the world. He wonders vaguely if tonight might be the first night this week that he manages to fall asleep without crying himself silly. 

It isn’t. 

***

Harry hasn’t updated his Tumblr since Louis left. He reaches over a sleeping Ed, who is taking up two thirds of his mattress, and grabs his laptop from the floor. 

When he logs on he is shocked to see an inordinate number of messages in his inbox. Well over a thousand in fact which is way more than he would expect to get in a month let alone a week. For a second he panics that something terrible has happened to his blog. Then, as he scrolls through his messages, he begins to understand. 

_Hey, I love your blog! Just wondering when you’re gonna update again and if we’re gonna get more pictures of the blue-eyed boy?_

_Who is the cutie on your blog and why have you stopped posting pictures of him? _

_Where are you? Are you OK? I hope you haven’t died :s_

_Hang on, I’m confused, you’re not the blue-eyed boy are you? Or are you? I always imagine you as a girl… no offence obvs x_

_WHERE IS FIT GUY? ARE YOU BANGING HIM? COS IF NOT I WILL!_

_Hope you’re ok hun, haven’t seen you on my dash in a while! Hope your absence has nothing to do with a certain blue-eyed boy. My inbox is always open love. Hugs xxx_

_Hate to break it to you babes but the guy in your pictures is clearly a fag. I say leave him the hell alone and find yourself a real man._

_The blue-eyed boy in your photos is beautiful. Is he your boyfriend?_

Harry slams his laptop shut and shoves it away from him. Ed squirms under the duvet. 

“What time is it?” his muffled voice grunts into the pillows. 

“Like half ten I think,” Harry answers. He is glaring at his laptop as though it is personally responsible for his current state of misery. 

“…umpff” says Ed, which Harry is sure isn’t an actual word in the English language, before rolling over onto his back and squinting up at Harry, holding one hand up to shield his eyes. He studies him closely. 

All at once the scene from last night comes crashing back into Harry’s memory, making his cheeks flush with embarrassment. What had started out as a few beers in front of the TV, a valiant attempt on Ed’s part to cheer Harry up, had quickly descended into a heart-wrenchingly cringe-worthy would-be-crying fest, if Harry were physically capable of crying that is. Ed had done a lot of awkward patting of Harry’s back and a lot of saying “there, there” and “you let it out mate, it’s good to get it off your chest”, as The Voice had droned on in the background. 

After god knows how long, they had switched off the TV and had decided that more beer was the way to cheer up their evening. Harry doesn’t remember very much from then on, but he remembers saying Louis’ name a lot and he remembers attempting to explain to Ed the dark pit of despair into which he was falling, so he figures it’s safe to assume that the beer plan wasn’t as effective as they had hoped. 

“How’s your head?” Harry asks to break the silence.

“Nghhhhh,” Ed groans lowly in response, and stretches all his limbs at once in a way which reminds Harry of a cat. He almost smiles until he remembers how soft and gorgeous and cat-like Louis always looks waking up in the morning. How his eyes are small and crinkly, and how his voice goes lower and scratchy like sandpaper. How he wriggles against Harry all snug and warm, entangled in duvet and limbs. 

When the memory becomes too painful to bear, Harry hauls himself out of bed, careful not to step on Ed in the process, and grabs a browning banana from the counter. It hits him that he is absolutely ravenous. As he munches on his banana he checks his phone. No messages from Louis. Obviously. Harry needs to stop registering the fact that there are no messages from Louis because it makes it seem as though he is expecting messages from Louis. 

Which he isn’t.

He sighs, puts his phone down and tosses the banana skin into the bin. He watches as Ed does a sterling job of at least attempting to get himself up and out of bed, patting his hands around on the floor by the mattress in search of socks. 

“What did you mean last night…”

“Huh?” Ed stops, mid-pat and looks up at Harry through sleepy eyes.

“…when you said I always hurt the ones I love the most?”

Ed blinks at Harry.

“I didn’t say that did I?”

Harry nods his head and bites his lip. Ed frowns and looks thoughtful for a second. 

“I’m pretty sure I would never have said that…”

“You did,” Harry insists. “You said that I always hurt the ones I love the most. And like, I didn’t think I had done this before but have I? Like, have I hurt _you_ before cos if so I’m so sorry, you have to tell me, I…” Harry can feel a great rising in his chest. Guilt, guilt, so much guilt, he feels like he is losing control of who he is and he needs Ed to reassure him, to explain it all away. From the look of utter perplexity on Ed’s face, Harry doesn’t get his hopes up.

“What? No! You haven’t hurt me,” Ed protests, “I’m confused… Hang on…” 

Ed’s frown deepens for a moment before a wave of realisation breaks across his face. 

“Ohhh… Harry, you totally misunderstood me.” 

“I did? How?”

“I meant you as in _one_ , not you as in _you_ , you plonker.” Ed’s face breaks into a grin and he shakes his head. “If anything you’re probably the exception to the rule. I wouldn’t imagine you capable of hurting so much as a fly let alone another human being. I wasn’t talking about you hurting Louis, I was talking about Louis hurting you. You told me _he_ was the one to walk out.”

“But…” Harry’s stunned and slightly annoyed. Didn’t Ed listen to his story last night? Harry’s the problem. Harry was the one who put Louis in a situation which was clearly so traumatising it made Louis have to leave without even saying goodbye. 

“…no Harry, no buts. Despite everything you said last night I still fail to see at what point I am meant to think that you are the bad guy in all of this.” 

Ed looks so certain of himself that Harry wants to shake him. Can Ed not see it in him, in his blood? That he’s screwed up, dangerous even. It makes sense, a voice in the back of his head sneers. Statistically it makes sense. What is it? Over ninety percent of abusers were abused themselves. Or something. That’s what they say isn’t it? 

He shakes his head and tries to knock his train of thought off course. He runs a trembling hand through his hair, noting vaguely that he needs to wash it, and takes a deep breath, while Ed continues his fruitless search for his socks. 

“I think he’s really not OK, Ed.” He almost whispers it, like a secret too dangerous to be overheard. 

“I know,” Ed nods, his voice heavy with sympathy. 

“He’s in so much pain, I can tell… he won’t tell me but I just know it and I wanted to take it away from him, make it better, and instead…” Harry’s voice cracks. He doesn’t say anything else. He said it all last night. A thousand times over and over, he garbled it into Ed’s lap. There’s no point going over it all again. Ed simply nods as though he understands. Harry has no clue if he really does. 

“You know what you need?” Ed pipes up, eyes suddenly bright. “You need a night out!”

“Eurgh” Harry grimaces. The thought alone is horrendous. 

“No seriously, we’re gonna do something. You need to get out of this flat for one thing!” Harry has to concede he has a point there. “I have a bunch of studio stuff to sort out today but I’m gonna text you later and we’re gonna make a plan and it’s gonna be awesome. I think my mate Luke is playing a gig actually…” he trails off thoughtfully, flicking through his phone. 

Harry doesn’t quite agree but doesn’t protest the plan either. He’ll just go with it for now. Maybe Ed is right. Maybe it will do him some good.

He jumps in the shower, leaving Ed to disentangle his clothes from the horrendous bombsite of a mess, which currently passes for Harry’s flat. When he comes out of the bathroom it is to find Ed fully dressed, apart from his bare feet which are peeping out the bottom of his baggy jeans. He is leaning against the counter, so immersed in his phone that he nearly jumps out of his skin when Harry speaks. 

“Who you texting?”

“Oh god! Harry, didn’t see you there! Erm… Zayn?” Ed looks oddly sheepish. 

“Why do you say it like that? Is he alright?” 

“Yeah he’s fine, just… he was just errr, updating me on Louis.”

“Oh I see.” Harry’s stomach clenches. It seems a silly thing, but he had forgotten that Zayn and Louis were friends. Well not forgotten as such. Just hadn’t considered how it might make things difficult for Ed. 

“He’s over at Louis’ for brunch and footie apparently,” Ed continues.

“Oh,” is all he can say. 

The thought of Zayn hanging out there, at 25 Rowntree Avenue, watching the footie with Louis and Liam and Niall is like being punched. The four of them there and him here. And Louis. Louis existing, Louis watching footie, Louis sitting on sofas, Louis having conversations. Louis carrying on. It’s the most mundane thing and yet Harry can’t quite get his head around it. 

“How is Louis?” he asks quietly. 

“Zayn says he’s in a pretty bad way.” Ed hesitates for a second then seems to make a decision. “In fact, he says he’s never seen Louis like this before. He’s not eating. He won’t talk.”

If it were possible to drown in guilt Harry’s sure he would be dead already. 

***

Ed thinks he may have dropped some form or something out of his back pocket. He phones Harry to say as much that evening. Harry rummages around on the floor, phone pressed to his ear, picking through piles of clothing and the bits of paper which he knocked off his desk a week ago in his haste to catch Louis and hasn’t yet bothered to put back.

“What does it look like again?” he asks wearily into the phone.

“It’s crumpled…” comes Ed’s tinny reply.

“Helpful.”

“… and A4”

Harry tries and fails to keep his grumpiness in check. 

“Again, so very helpful.” 

“Oh I dunno. It says something like _Application For Young Musician’s Grant UK_ … or _Young Musician’s Fund _perhaps…? Summit like that.”__

As Harry turns over yet another piece of paper fitting Ed’s description, he sees something which makes his heart stutter. Suddenly the world around him seems to fall silent except for the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. 

“Harry? Harry, you there?” Ed’s voice sounds distant and not quite there.

It can’t be? Can it…? He brings the piece of paper up towards him, hands trembling. He blinks. 

_Always in my heart Harry Styles, Yours sincerely, Louis_

It’s only short but it says everything.

***

Sunday evening and Louis is at work with Zayn. The cold weather, and the fact that Oscar season is nipping at their heels, have driven inordinate numbers of customers into the cinema. Nick is obnoxiously gleeful about the whole thing, taking great delight in sitting in his office and watching the numbers on the tills skyrocket. Louis, who has to actually serve the customers and deal with their shit, is less than impressed. 

“I blame the new marketing manager,” Zayn grumbles under his breath as he passes Louis on his hurried way to re-fill the popcorn machine, in a blessed moment of relative piece after the final film has gone in. “Nobody ever bothered us here before she started all this marketing nonsense.”

“Bloody person doing her job,” Louis grumbles back, only half-mocking. 

“I also blame Nick,” Zayn adds, dumping what looks like a bin-bags-worth of popcorn into the machine. 

“Why Nick?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs and scrunches up the now empty bag, tossing it in the vague vicinity of the recycling bin. “I just generally enjoy blaming Nick for things.”

Louis lets out a small, wry laugh. From the look on Zayn’s face you would have thought he had just burst out in tongues. 

“What?” 

“Sorry,” Zayn shakes his head, “it’s just that…” he smiles affectionately at Louis. “It’s good to see you smile is all.”

“I’ve smiled loads of times today,” Louis snaps indignantly. He feels genuinely touched by Zayn’s affection and being snappy is his only defence mechanism. 

“Nope,” Zayn squares up, “I hate to break it to you mate but you haven’t.” 

“What about when I’ve been serving customers? I always smile at them even if I don’t mean it.”

Zayn thinks for a moment. 

“You’ve been sort of grimacing. But, like, subtly. Like a small, subtle grimace. Like this.” He distorts his face into a pained, close-mouthed grin.

Louis laughs again, and only notices the noise once it’s escaped his lips. He claps his hand over his mouth as though scared to open it again. He thinks if he does he might start crying and never stop. On seeing Louis laugh again Zayn’s face softens into a warm, genuine smile. 

He opens his mouth to speak, his smile all at once turned to frowning concern, just at the same moment as the audience from screen one begins to filter through the doors, emerging back into the bright lights of the foyer, blinking away their disorientation. 

It’s perhaps the first time in Louis’ miserable existence at this place that he has actually been happy to see so many customers in one go. He figures they have just saved him from a conversation he doesn’t want to have. 

As their shift draws to a close, Nick prances down the stairs, beaming like the cat who got not only the cream, but also an entire weekend of back-to-back sold-out screenings. 

“What a weekend hey folks?” he says. Louis objects to being referred to as _folks_. 

Nick chats away ten to the dozen, speculating about the sales of their local rival cinemas and offering up his musings on what should and should not win an Oscar this year. He is casually leaning against the counter, infuriatingly watching but not once offering to help, as Zayn and Louis clean the coffee machine and re-stock the kiosk, arms full of over-priced packets of maltesers. 

Louis has so completely zoned out of what Nick is saying that it is with some horror that he realises, too late, that he has agreed to something and he doesn’t know what. From the look on Zayn’s face he has clearly just realised the same thing. 

“…always saying we should do stuff outside of work so this will be great. I’ll get Ashton to add you both to the guestlist.” He already has his phone out and he begins excitedly texting away. 

Louis throws a worried glance towards Zayn, who simply shrugs looking as nonplussed as Louis feels. Whatever they have just agreed to, it involves a guestlist. And Louis had been doing such a brilliant job of avoiding anywhere that wasn’t his house or the cinema. 

Despite their shared distaste for Nick, neither Louis nor Zayn can deny that he is actually a pretty decent guy at heart. He seems so excited by the prospect of them, “his work friends” as they hear him saying loudly into his phone, accompanying him to whatever event this is that neither of them has the heart to point out to him that their agreement to attend said event was in fact one hundred percent accidental.

***

Ashton turns out to be a member of a band. _Five Seasons of Summer_ or _Five Seconds to Mars_ or something. Louis’ not really paying attention. 

This is the first time he has been out in a crowd without Harry for months. He had forgotten how anxious crowds made him. How the tightness of the people left little space for him to breathe, how every face was potentially the face of his darkest nightmares. At times he would feel as though the room was closing in on him, the roar of the crowd becoming almost deafening, a hundred pairs of eyes turning to stare at him and gabble and jeer, all becoming the one face that had Louis waking in the dead of night, sweating, gasping for the breath to scream. 

How had he not noticed how Harry had made them all disappear? How Harry had held back the incoming walls and turned down the volume, allowing Louis to hone in on him and him alone. And feel safe. 

“ARE YOU OK?” Zayn shouts above the music. It’s guitar-based and Louis reckons he might like it if it wasn’t so deafening above the roar of the heaving, beer-sticky crowd of twenty-somethings. 

“FINE,” Louis shouts back, “JUST GOING TO THE TOILET.” 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Liam says, leaning close to Louis’ ear, presumably so that Zayn can’t hear. 

“No. Thanks,” Louis mouths, shaking his head. 

Liam is stood slightly behind and between Louis and Zayn in his traditional protective stance. Zayn had insisted that Liam come as well to balance out Nick. It had surprised Louis but not in a bad way. He likes the fact that Zayn and Liam get on as well as they do, although he does occasionally have to brush off the odd pang of jealousy when he sees just how close they have become. He had done a double-take outside in the queue when he could have sworn for a second he saw their hands entwined, but when he looked down again to see both their hands hanging limply at their sides, he realised he must have made it up in his head. Anyway he appreciates that they’re both there but he doesn’t want to spoil their night by dragging them outside with him.

He pushes gingerly through the crowd, shoving people out the way in his impatience and being shoved ferociously in return. Every elbow in his ribs feels like a hot poker against him. Every splosh of beer is like acid. He almost trips over his own feet in his effort to escape the sweaty mass of bodies packed into the converted Camden theatre. 

This is different, he thinks, as he splashes water on his face in the cramped men’s toilets. This isn’t how he felt before. Before, when in crowds, he had been plagued with a sort of dull undercurrent of constant fear, coupled with a crippling sense of isolation, of being separate from it all and half-numb. But tonight. Tonight he feels as though he is on fire, or rather, like everything else is. Every nerve ending is raw. Every unwanted touch, every brush of a stranger’s shoulder feels like an attack. 

It’s Harry’s fault. Harry has made him feel again and now it all hurts too much. 

He tries to wipe the water off his face as best he can, realising too late that the paper towel dispenser is empty. His fringe is plastered to his forehead and he is pathetically pale and clammy. He hasn’t looked at himself properly for over a week. The starkness of the bags under his eyes shocks him. He closes them, not wanting to look at himself anymore and not caring that he must look pretty crazy to whoever has just opened the door…

“Louis?” 

Louis’ stomach swoops sickeningly, like the moment when a roller coaster doesn’t take a bend quite fast enough. He must be making it up, a trick of the mind, his own paranoia, like seeing Liam and Zayn hold hands…

“Louis?” 

There it is again. Unmistakable. 

Louis doesn’t dare open his eyes. He thinks if he does he is in danger of becoming so lost in green eyes and brown curls that nobody will ever be able to find him again. 

Oh Universe. Why here? Of all places?

There is silence between them. Although he can’t see him, Louis can feel him. He knows that he is still standing there, just behind Louis. Just out of reach.  
Neither of them moves. 

“I… er… I…” 

Harry’s voice is even more Harry than Louis remembers it. It’s all of him, his warmth, his gentleness, his patience, all drawn out of him in low, slow vowels, hesitant but steady. 

_Yes, you Harry. You indeed._ Louis thinks to himself. Over and over. _It’s you, it’s you._ Still he keeps his eyes closed. 

An age passes between them. Louis has so many things to say but he can’t say them. In the end Harry sums them all up for him. 

“I’m sorry.” 

His voice is small and so sincere Louis thinks his heart would break if not for the fact that it is already in bits. He doesn’t understand what Harry is apologising for.

A minute more and then he feels the air behind him change, and hears the noise from the crowd rise and fall as the door is opened and closed again. He counts to three and then opens his eyes. 

Nothing. There is nobody there. Looking into the mirror the scene looks exactly the same as it did before. Just Louis, tired and sad, with his fringe plastered to his forehead and shocking bags under his eyes and nothing but a grubby cubicle behind him.

***

“NIAALLLL!” Louis bellows as he slams the front door shut behind him with a thud. 

“What the fuck?” Niall pokes his head down the stairs to stare at Louis who is sopping wet from the rain outside. Louis had left the gig immediately after the toilet incident, swearing to never go near anything music related in London ever again - bloody Ed! – and had sent Liam and Zayn and Nick the most vague of apologetic texts. He has just run like a mad man all the way from the bus stop to his house, relishing the space and the rain against his skin, washing away everything that clung to him from the venue. 

“You must be freezing, you look like you swam the bloody channel!”

“How was football?” Louis asks, ignoring Niall’s comment and rushing up the stairs, still fit to bursting with this strange new energy which has taken him in its grip. A rather disconcertingly maniacal grip if Louis is being totally honest with himself, which he is trying desperately not to be.

“It was pretty shit.” Niall says after a beat. He is clearly – depressingly - surprised by the fact that Louis is making conversation. “We lost. And got pissed on.” He shrugs before hastily adding, “By the rain. We got pissed on by the rain, not by the other team or anything. That would have been really shit. And weird.” Louis kicks off his shoes and they head into the kitchen. He opens the fridge and sees a beautiful half-opened bottle of vodka winking at him. 

“Let’s get wasted!” Louis can hear himself say. He sounds weirdly loud and high-pitched. 

“Er…” Niall narrows his eyes, “why? What’s happened?”

“Nothing. Honestly,” Louis insists. “Just, the gig was crap and the drinks were over-priced, and I have no plans for tomorrow and I feel like getting blind drunk.”

Niall looks uncertain. Louis wonders whether he is playing over Eleanor’s disapproving voice in his head. 

“Is Eleanor in?”

“No, she’s with Max.” Niall’s brow is furrowed, suggesting that he is doing some very quick thinking behind it. At last it smoothes out and he says, “what the hell! Let’s call it a hump day treat!”

“It’s not Wednesday,” says Louis to which Niall replies with a friendly shove.

“Look, you’re the one who wants to get twaddle-faced at 11pm on a Monday, I’m just helping you out.” 

Louis cackles, and grabs the bottle of vodka out the fridge. 

“Twaddle-faced?” he asks, rummaging around for a carton of juice. 

“Twat-faced.” Niall is emphatic, clearly now very much on-board with this new genius master plan of Louis’. 

“Dick-faced.”

“Cucumbered.”

“Bananaed.”

“Tequilaed!” Niall nearly shouts as he spots a dusty bottle at the back of the top of the cupboard. He clambers onto the counter and reverently moves aside old half-opened cereal boxes and unopened spice packets in his quest to reach it. Yes, he is clearly very much on-board with this plan. 

Louis huffs indignantly when he realises that there really is no juice to be had in the whole house, unless they fancy using Eleanor’s leftover healthy-living spinach smoothie crap as mixer. 

“Niall, we’re doing shots!”

***

The next morning Louis doesn’t wake until gone midday. He is in Niall’s bed. After several seconds of utter confusion, he realises the thing stuck to his forehead is a post-it note. It reads _El pissed cos appaz we drank all her green smoothie!! Beware! N x_

The sun is high in the sky and Louis thinks dully that one would never know it was only February except for the bare branches of the trees against the clear blue sky. He wishes the year would be over already. New Year’s feels like a lifetime ago. He dozes on and off, checking his phone intermittently. He hears a strange shout and voices emerge from Liam’s room around one o’clock. Zayn must have stayed over. Louis is unsurprised and too hungover to muster the energy to feel jealous. 

He drags himself out of bed, with his head kicking and screaming the whole way. He makes toast and tea and devours them hastily, standing over the sink. 

It’s there, standing there in his poxy studenty kitchen, on Rowntree Avenue, in South London, in yesterday’s boxers, halfway through a tea-soaked gulp of burnt toast and butter, that Louis realises that he is in love with Harry Styles. 

Truly, madly, deeply, irrevocably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are enjoying this so far! As always kudos and comments are very much appreciated :) until next week... x


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's taken me longer to update than planned! Life has got in the way. However here is the next installment, voila... enjoy :)

It’s Saturday, which means Dr Corden. It’s also Valentine’s Day, which means Louis should be in a raging foul mood. But he’s not. 

He’s surprisingly calm. Impressively so. In fact he thinks he might just deserve a medal for the new heights of zen he has managed to achieve this week. Since his epiphany last week, when the small fact of his being absolutely and utterly head over heels in love with the most gorgeous and most sweet man in the whole world had dawned on him, he has felt oddly level-headed.

Even the subsequent realisation that his love is in vain and that Harry can never be his due to Louis’… well, due to Louis being Louis, hasn’t had the devastating effect one might have expected. In a way it’s quite nice, freeing even. He feels like a patient who has finally received a diagnosis after months of uncertainty. 

Not that knowing the diagnosis is any sort of cure. The aching hasn’t lessened. If anything it feels like it is increasing with every passing day that takes Louis further away from Harry. But at least he knows why. 

He explains as much to Dr Corden, going through everything in minute detail. Everything that he has felt and realised in the last two weeks, right down to his suspicions about Zayn and Liam, and the fact that he quite misses Ed. Everything. 

By the time he has finished speaking he feels drained. He looks up at Dr Corden expectantly, who looks pleasantly surprised. 

“Wow Louis, that’s probably the longest I have ever heard you speak and definitely the longest without me prompting you.” 

It’s true, Louis hadn’t even waited for Dr Corden to ask him how he was. 

“Well, I’ve done lots of thinking,” he says simply. 

“That you have,” Dr Corden nods, “you’ve pretty much done my job for me, it sounds like you’ve asked yourself a lot of tough questions and worked through a lot of stuff. It’s really impressive actually.” 

“I guess I’ve been coming to you long enough that I know what you would say.”

Dr Corden laughs warmly. 

“Glad to hear these sessions have had an impact.”

“They have,” Louis nods thoughtfully, “who’d have thought ‘eh? Even me being the fuck up that I am can still work some stuff out on my own.”

“Louis!” Dr Corden frowns, his voice slightly sharper than Louis has heard it before. 

“Sorry, sorry… _screw_ up.”

“Now Louis, you just said you know what I would say, so what do you think I am about to say to you?”

Louis exaggerates his sigh for effect. He feels like he has used up all his reserves of sincerity for one day. 

“That there’s no such thing as a fuck up.” Dr Corden opens his mouth to consent but Louis continues, “but knowing what you’re going to say doesn’t necessarily mean I agree with it.”

Dr Corden closes his mouth again and thinks for a second. Louis looks at the clock. He has talked for so long it’s nearly the end of the session already. 

“It’s true, you don’t have to agree with everything I say.”

Louis nods in satisfaction. Dr Corden continues.

“So now you know the diagnosis, as you put it, what do you think is the cure?”

“Oh no, there’s no cure,” Louis shrugs simply, “the doctors say it’s terminal.”

“Hmmm,” Dr Corden raises his chin, humouring Louis’ sudden reversion to childlike obtuseness. “This doctor begs to differ.” 

Louis has no response for this. 

“Why do you say there is no cure?”

“Because,” he feels heavy all of a sudden, he’s been over all this already surely, “because… because the only cure would be to be with Harry and I can’t be with him.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Because I’m a fu…” Louis glances at Dr Corden who is watching him warningly, “I’m not really ok about sex and stuff and he deserves someone who can be with him properly.”

“Do you respect Harry?”

What? Where on earth does this question come from? Of course Louis respects Harry. The suggestion that he doesn’t is, quite frankly, beyond insulting.

“Course,” is his blunt reply. 

“Do you trust that Harry is intelligent enough to make decisions about his own life himself?”

Louis scowls at Dr Corden. He sees where this is going and it’s not fair. 

“Well, yeah, of course, but…” 

“Hang on. No _buts_ yet,” Dr Corden holds up his hand to stop Louis. Surely he isn’t supposed to interrupt his patients, Louis thinks indignantly. “Don’t you think that perhaps you might owe it to Harry, and more importantly to yourself, to let _him_ make an informed decision about what _he_ wants?”

Louis bites his lip and picks at a loose thread on the sleeve of his hoody. 

“I’m not suggesting,” Dr Corden continues, “that you should defer to Harry. Ultimately you have to make a decision about what you want, and what will be best for you, and he has to do the same for himself and then you can both work from there. But don’t you think at the moment you’re not allowing him the tools to make decisions for himself. You’ve made his decision for him. Is that fair? If the roles were reversed how would you feel? Don’t you think you might feel angry if he made a decision that was rightfully yours to make?”

Huh.

“This is what I mean when I say you owe it to him. You owe it to yourself, to give him the chance to make the decision which is rightfully his to make. If you don’t want to be with him, that is your choice, but if he doesn’t want to be with you, that is his.”

***

“Honey, I’m home,” Louis calls out to nobody in particular as he shucks off his shoes and jacket and rushes up the stairs two at a time. He’s buzzing with a sort of manic, nervous energy and something which feels remarkably like clarity. Maybe, just maybe.

“How was Dr Corden?” Liam asks poking his head round the living room door. “Gosh, you look well,” he adds when he sets eyes on Louis. 

“Do I?” Louis asks, pushing his way past Liam into the living room which is empty, the TV blaring loudly on the music channel. “That’ll be my new found clarity, Liam.”

“Oh yeah?” Liam settles on the couch and Louis sits at the other end, tucking his knees up beneath him, ready to do some more talking. 

“I’m going to speak to Harry.” 

“You are?” Liam’s eyes almost pop out of his head. 

“Yes,” Louis nods determinedly. He’s never been more determined of anything in his life. At least that’s what he is trying to tell himself. That’s what he has been trying to cling onto desperately since he left Dr Corden’s office. “Well, I think so.” 

His newfound clarity is quickly becoming murky around the edges. Liam looks at him in question. He slumps against the side of the sofa. 

“Oh fuck, I don’t know!” he admits, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Dr Corden thinks I should speak to him and just be honest with him about, you know, what happened and stuff, and let _him_ decide if I am too much of a fuck-up for him to deal with.” Liam looks somewhat shocked until Louis adds gloomily, “Ok so those weren’t his exact words. I’m paraphrasing Li, but you get the gist.”

“So you’re going to speak to Harry?” 

“Everything Dr Corden said makes sense I guess. But I don’t know.” He feels so dejected all of a sudden. Where has his clarity gone? Short-lived and ultimately useless as it was, he misses it. 

Liam watches Louis with a concerned look on his face, but says nothing. 

“Liam, tell me, what should I do? What would you do?” Louis is so tired of making decisions he decides the logical thing to do is to leave it to someone else. Whatever Liam says, that’s what he will do. 

Forever. 

That will be the final decision. 

His clarity is back. He watches Liam expectantly, holding his breath. 

“I don’t know,” is all Liam offers up, accompanied by a lame shrug. 

“Urgh! Liam! That is not the decisive response I need right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam says and he genuinely looks it as well, with his large brown puppy-dog eyes. “I wish I knew what to say to make everything right again…” 

“Oh, that’s okay,” Louis sighs. For a moment he stares down at his hands, deep in thought. Then he sighs again and wriggles up the sofa until he is tucked against Liam’s broad side. He rests his head on his chest and turns his attention to the TV. 

“Sorry I’m no use” Liam mumbles. His breath flutters through Louis’ hair and he wriggles in closer. 

“You’re not no use,” Louis replies, suddenly overwhelmed with love and guilt. “You’re the opposite in fact. You’re always there for me Li and I haven’t been there for you at all recently.”

“What? Where is this coming from?”

“Dunno. Just… please don’t think you’re no use. I don’t know if I could have made it through this last year without you. In fact I’m pretty certain I wouldn’t have.”

Louis feels Liam’s arm tighten around his shoulders. He relaxes into the embrace. 

“Love you,” Liam murmurs, pressing his lips against Louis’ head.

“Love you too,” Louis mumbles, curling his hand into Liam’s shirt, before adding in his most obnoxious voice, “but not in a gay way or anything!”

“No indeed,” Liam chimes in, his tone the epitome of deadpan, “cos that would be like, totally gross.”

“So wrong,” Louis agrees, feeling the unfamiliar tug of a grin at the corners of his mouth. 

“No homo!” Liam exclaims. 

Louis pinches him in the side, hard, and they both descend into giggles. Louis realises this is the first time he has laughed since the night of the gig where he saw, or rather didn’t see Harry. Laughing is nice. 

“Maybe Dr Corden is right,” Liam says gently, when their giggles have just about subsided. 

“Hmm, maybe.” Louis hums against his chest. 

They sit there like that through a few music videos, every now and then commenting on nothing in particular. If Louis tries hard, he can just about imagine that this is them a year ago, before any of this happened. 

“What are you doing this evening?” he asks all of a sudden. “Wanna catch a movie? Nick has been pestering me about the fact that I haven’t seen a single Oscar contender this whole season, and I kind of want to go see the one by the guy who did that film with the dad and the son that we liked, what was it called…?”

“Er…” Liam’s hesitation pulls Louis out of his little ramble. “Actually, I can’t tonight, what about tomorrow?” He is trying to keep his voice casual but Louis knows him too well for that. 

“It’s Valentine’s Day. We always do something together on Valentine’s day.” Louis sits up to look Liam in the eyes. Liam’s cheeks have turned an unflattering shade of beetroot. “Liam, do you have a date?” Louis tries to keep his voice light and mocking, pushing aside the tiny little bit of him which wants to cling to Liam and ban him from ever going out of the house ever again. 

“Er… well, not like a date… not really, just like…” Liam is stuttering all over the place and Louis decides to put him out of his misery. 

“It’s ok Liam, I know about you and Zayn.” 

“You do?” Liam’s eyes are wide and he looks tentatively at Louis, as though terrified for whatever he might say next. 

No, Louis thinks, but I do now. 

“Sure,” he shrugs, schooling his face into casual composure, “how blind do you think I am?” Clearly he is pretty fucking blind, he thinks to himself. 

Liam lets out a nervous huff of laughter. 

“I didn’t think you were blind, I just thought we had done a better job of hiding it.” 

“Nah, nothing gets past me, Li. Hey that rhymed!” Louis’ following laugh is a little forced and he folds himself back into Liam’s side, not wanting Liam to see his face. 

“What I don’t get,” he says in a small voice, all hope of keeping it light and casual gone, “is why you didn’t just tell me straight away. Did you think I wouldn’t be happy for you?”

Yep, Louis is definitely doing a terrible job of keeping the hurt out of his voice. 

“No Lou, it’s not that,” Liam sighs and his chest heaves under Louis’ cheek. “It’s just we didn’t really know what it was for ages, it took us both forever to admit our feelings to each other. It was actually around the time you broke up with Harry.” His voice has dropped to a low murmur now, as though treading softly over uneven ground. “I was going to tell you that day you came home crying and when I saw you like that, obviously I couldn’t tell you then and then, I dunno, there just never seemed like a good time and I didn’t want it to seem like I was rubbing it in your face and Zayn felt the same and… oh Louis, I’m sorry, I should have told you! Please don’t be angry…”

“I’m not angry,” Louis says quietly. And of course he’s not. How could he be? Liam hasn’t done anything except be the wonderful, loving, caring friend he always is. “To be honest, as much as I hate to admit it, you were probably right not to tell me then.”

“Really?” Liam sounds disbelieving. 

“Really,” Louis says firmly. He would offer an explanation, but he knows that Liam doesn’t need one. “I’m glad you’ve told me now though. Are you happy with him?”

“So happy,” Liam says, and Louis swears he can hear Liam’s smile curving around his words. 

“Good,” he says. And it really is, he thinks to himself. “Do the others know?”

“Yeah, they do,” he says cautiously, “but only because Eleanor figured it out when she got suspicious about my late night study sessions and she kind of cornered me and forced me to tell her,” Louis snorts softly against Liam’s chest, “and Niall. Well actually, poor, poor Niall, he didn’t so much hear about it as see it with his own eyes, when he walked in on us in bed together that morning after Nick’s friend’s gig.”

Louis can just imagine the look on Niall’s face. He’s quite sorry he didn’t get to witness it. 

“So you and Zayn have, you know… done it?” God, why is Louis a child when it comes to talking about sex?

Liam clears his throat awkwardly and Louis can pretty much feel the heat radiating off his cheeks. 

“Yeah,” he grunts gruffly. Apparently Liam is as much of a child about it as Louis is. “That was our first time, like properly doing _it_ , you know? After the gig.”

“How was it?” Louis doesn’t know whether he wants to know or not. 

“Amazing,” Liam whispers in awe. “It’s never been like that before. I feel like with him I can just be myself. Like totally and he won’t judge me for it. He just gets me, you know?” 

Louis closes his eyes and doesn’t say anything in response. 

***

That evening, Louis finds himself alone. It’s OK. Liam is with Zayn and El is with Max and Niall is with some girl called Annie who Louis is sure he has never mentioned but who Niall insists he has been seeing for at least two weeks, which for him might as well be a lifetime.

“Getting pretty serious is it?” Louis had teased as Niall had checked his hair in the hallway mirror for the umpteenth time. 

To Niall’s credit he does offer to sack off his date with Annie and keep Louis company. Louis can tell he genuinely means it as well, which really is all Louis needs. 

“No, no Niall. You go. Honestly. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of spending valuable time with your uber-serious, long-term girlfriend.” He winks at Niall in the mirror to let him know he really is OK. 

Niall eventually concedes and grabs his jacket, rushing down the stairs to the front door. Louis is tempted to ruffle his hair on the way out but decides that even he isn’t that mean. 

He watches TV for a while, and mopes around feeling hungry but too lazy to make himself any food. Eventually he orders takeaway and eats it on the sofa in the dark. The Notebook is showing on TV. 

Louis must fall asleep on the sofa because he is suddenly startled awake by a sharp ding. At first he thinks it has come from the TV and then he sees his phone lit up on the floor in front of him. He musters up the energy to reach out and retrieve it, and peers blearily at it. 

One new message from Harry. 

Just like that he is wide awake and his heart starts racing in his throat. He unlocks his phone, gripping it so hard that his knuckles are white, and brings up the message.

_You are always and forever in my heart too. X_

He hardly dares to breathe. He reads it and re-reads it until his eyes begin to ache and the bright glare of the screen blurs and spills out into the gloomy room. Something a little like hope is fluttering somewhere deep inside of him. 

Harry saw his note. He had assumed that Harry had seen it and assumed that he simply hadn’t replied because there was nothing to be said about it. 

Louis clutches his phone and thinks of Harry alone in his flat on Valentine’s Day. God, it’s Valentine’s Day and Harry is thinking about Louis. Is he not out having fun like he is supposed to be? Louis can’t bear it. The thought of Harry sad and alone and all because of him. 

Louis stares at the screen again. The words blur through his tears. The orange glow of the streetlight is pouring into the room, casting strange shadows across the floor, just like it had done that night, when Louis had knocked tentatively on the door because he couldn’t sleep and something inside him had instinctively known that Harry would make everything better. Just by being there. Just by being Harry.

Suddenly Louis can’t bear it any longer. Can’t bear to be anywhere that Harry isn’t. The realisation hits him like a freight train. 

Harry. He has to be with Harry. 

He rushes to his room and rummages around for his keys, throwing on the first hoody he picks up from his floor. He wonders briefly if he should get changed and try to make himself look presentable but he quickly dismisses the idea. There’s no time. He has to get to Harry. He has to get to him now before he chickens out. 

Outside the air is cold and biting. The first signs of the night’s frost are appearing, glittering on the golden pavements. He makes for the station at a sprint, his chest feeling as though it might burst. He’s scared and excited and determined all at once, and so, so in love. He spends the entire train journey tapping his knee incessantly, willing the train on to the next stop and the next.

He runs the distance from the underground station to Harry’s flat so fast that his side feels like it might split open. He bends over at the bottom of the flight of stairs, hands on knees, gasping for air. Harry is at the top of these stairs. That thought spurs him on and he takes the steps three at a time. When he reaches Harry’s door he stares at it. For a fraction of a second he wants to turn around and run away again, but then that fraction of a second passes and all he can think of is running into Harry’s arms, holding him close and never letting go. 

He holds his fist up to the door and knocks. Three, five, seven firm hard and fast knocks. Eight, nine. He realises he may be scaring Harry with how violent they sound so he calls out.

“Harry? Harry! It’s me, it’s Louis…” He knocks again, several more times.

“HARRY!” he calls out louder. With each passing second he becomes more frantic, more desperate. 

“Oi!” an angry voice behind him blurts out, “oi!” He whips around to see a middle-aged man in his pyjamas glaring at Louis from his doorway across the hall. “Some of us are trying to sleep for fuck’s sake!”

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He feels weak and drained all of a sudden. He hadn’t for a moment considered the fact that Harry might not be home. The man tuts aggressively, before disappearing into his flat, shutting his door behind him with an angry thud. 

Louis slides down to sit with his back against Harry’s door and considers his situation. The underground will be closed now, he caught the last train on his way here. He doesn’t have any money for a taxi and the prospect of hours on winding, ill-thought-out night buses, packed with drunks and couples fills him with dread. He shuts his eyes and tips his head against the cool wood of the door. 

What if Harry _is_ inside? What if he heard Louis and chose not to answer? Somehow Louis knows that that isn’t the case, but still the idea sits in the back of his mind, taunting him. Wherever Harry is, he’s not here on this side of the door with Louis. Louis has never felt more alone. 

Minutes pass and he doesn’t move. Minutes turn into hours. He drifts in and out of uncomfortable sleep, every so often starting himself awake. He keeps expecting Harry to open the door, looking down stunned to find a sleeping Louis falling into his flat. And he keeps seeing Harry emerging up the stairs and stopping in his tracks, before shouting out Louis’ name and rushing to him, scooping him up in his arms and kissing the life back into him. Louis sees it over and over and doesn’t realise he is asleep until he is rudely awoken by his phone ringing. 

He snaps open his eyes. Bright daylight is pouring into the dingy hallway from the stairwell. He moves his neck, which aches like bloody murder, and stands up, trying to stretch out his spine which feels bruised and battered having spent the entire night pressed up against solid, hard door. 

When he checks his phone he sees that it is gone 8am. He also sees that he has a missed call from Liam. He sighs and puts his phone back into his pocket. What should he do now? He aches right down to the bone. He turns to face the door again and knocks tentatively. 

No reply. He knows there is no way Harry is in but still he calls out helplessly. 

“Harry?” 

His voice seems to echo and bounce down the empty stairwell behind him. 

***

Harry sits on the bus, resting his head against the cool window pane. He watches the people whizzing past outside and wonders what their stories are. Builders and joggers and mums with prams, and students and tourists and shoppers. He watches them all and imagines what it must be like to be them. 

He can’t stop thinking about last night. He hates himself for it. One stupid moment of selfish weakness. As soon as he had pressed send he had immediately regretted it. Not the sentiment. He doesn’t regret the sentiment one bit. He meant it as much as he has ever meant anything. But he had no right to send it to Louis. No right to impose on Louis’ Valentine’s Day like that. 

He has no right to Louis whatsoever. 

As soon as he had sent the text he had phoned Ed who insisted that Harry come over to his. They had considered going to a bar but the prospect of being surrounded by happy couples had not been appealing. In the end they hadn’t done anything. Just chatted until they had both fallen asleep. Harry had woken this morning to a call from Barbara at the bakery, asking him to cover for Margaret whose cat had apparently died suddenly in the night. Of course he had agreed immediately and sent his love and well wishes to Margaret. Ed had lent him some fresh jeans and a T-shirt as he knew he didn’t have time to make it home and get changed. 

The bus takes a corner too fast and Harry bangs his forehead painfully on the windowpane. He couldn’t even look at you, he sneers at himself. The memory of Louis in the toilet at the gig, stood stock still, eyes tight shut, looms darkly in Harry’s mind, refusing to budge. 

When the bus pulls up at a traffic light he catches sight of a girl, huddled in the doorway of what looks like a warehouse block. She looks young, definitely not yet eighteen, and her skin has the papery greyness of too many nights in the open air. He rings the bell and steps off the bus, heading for the Tesco which he spots at the end of the street. He knows she will need all the carbs she can get so he stocks up on sandwiches and crisps and then figures that she is probably lacking vitamins as well and buys two huge cartons of orange juice. He tries to stem the swelling sadness in his chest. He knows some cartons of juice can’t help much. 

He checks his phone. He will just about make it to work on time, he reassures himself, as long as he runs really fast. 

***

Louis wanders around Harry’s neighbourhood for at least an hour, deliberating what to do. He finds a bench across from a row of shops and sits down. He watches a group of thirty-somethings gathering with their huge prams at the gates of a nearby park. A part of his brain keeps telling him that maybe this is a sign. Maybe he should just give up and go home and accept that clearly his big grand gesture was not meant to be. Maybe watching The Notebook last night has gone to his head. 

But he can’t turn back. Now that he’s here and he’s come this far he can’t _not_ see Harry again. There’s just no way, he tells the universe defiantly, no way you’re gonna keep me from him anymore. 

He pulls out his phone, suddenly inspired to action. He puts the phone to his ear and waits patiently as it rings and rings and rings and then goes to voicemail. Damn. 

He taps his knee in irritation and huddles into his jacket as a particularly harsh wind whips down the street. After a couple of minutes his phone rings and he checks the screen. Yes! There we go. 

“Hi Ed,” he says, with forced cheeriness, his voice cracking from disuse. He clears his throat.

“Hi Louis,” Ed replies, “are you ok?” He sounds confused and rather wary, which Louis figures is understandable. He doesn’t think he has ever actually spoken to Ed on the phone before. 

“Yeah, I’m good thanks, you?” Louis thinks actually explaining his current situation might make him sound slightly insane and the last thing he wants to do is scare Ed away. 

“I’m good…?” 

“Good, glad to hear it. Er… I was just wondering,” Louis’ knee is tapping so incessantly he swears it has gained a life of its own, “do you happen to know where Harry is?”

“Erm… he’s at work. Why?” From the tone of Ed’s voice he sounds reluctant to offer up this information.

“I just want to talk to him.” Louis goes for breezy and fails spectacularly. 

“Oh.” Ed is silent for a second and then, “OK.”

There is an awkward moment between them. Louis could ask Ed about Harry. Could try and suss out where he is at, how he is doing, whether he misses Louis at all… But somehow Louis feels it wouldn’t be appropriate. 

“Where is his work exactly? He never actually told me the address. It’s not far from his flat right?”

“Louis,” Ed interrupts, his tone sharp and dangerous, “why do you want to see him?”

“Because I have to.” He wants to say because I love him, but he thinks Harry should be the first to hear that. 

“Ok. I’ll give you the address of the bakery if you swear to me you won’t break his heart again.”

Break his heart? Again?

“I swear,” Louis says desperately. “I swear to you Ed, I’m not gonna do that… I promise. I just… I have to see him! Please!” He tries to keep the rising note of hysteria out of his voice. 

“Ok, ok,” Ed says simply. “I believe you. The bakery is on Punners Green Lane. I’ll text you the postcode.” 

“Thank you so much Ed,” Louis gushes, “thank you.”

“Hmm. Ok. Bye Louis.” Ed says and then adds, somewhat more warmly, “good luck” before hanging up. As promised he sends through the postcode and Louis taps it into the map on his phone. He stares at the little blue line which will take him to Harry. The map says seven minutes walking. Seven minutes. Harry is seven minutes away from Louis and Louis is seven minutes away from Harry. He begins to walk. 

Four minutes. He turns onto a main road, ignoring the cars rushing by and the people on the street. He stares at the little blue line, like it is his lifeline. He watches it shorten. Two minutes. Louis adjusts his jacket collar and quickly catches his reflection in the window of a parked car. He looks suitably dishevelled for a guy who has spent a night on a cold, concrete floor in the hallway of an east London apartment block. He tries to straighten out his fringe. One minute. 

He comes to a stop outside a bakery. A friendly looking bakery with wide glass windows displaying rows and rows of iced buns and pastries and a multitudinous array of coloured cakes, and a sign above the door announcing that the name of the shop is _The Rolling Scones_. There is a little rainbow sticker by the handle of the door like several of the shops in the area. 

For a moment Louis forgets his nerves and is overcome with fondness. Trust Harry to work in a place like this. It’s him all over, from the colour-coordinated cupcakes to the terrible pun of a name. 

Peering through the windows past the racks of food he adjusts his eyes to the gloom. He can’t see Harry. He registers that his heart is beating furiously under his jumper and his throat feels as though it is sticking to itself and his stomach is swirling with butterflies, yet despite it all he feels a steady sense of certainty. This is where he should be. Wherever Harry is, is where Louis should be. 

His feet carry him to the door and he takes a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside. It’s not busy. There are a few customers sat at the little cramped tables at one end and at the other an elderly, matronly looking plump lady in a cap is serving a young girl, who can’t seem to choose between the pain au chocolat or the chocolate doughnut. 

Louis waits patiently in line behind her. The anti-climactic act of queuing makes him feel oddly calm. It’s almost as if he has half forgotten that he is actually here to confess his undying love to the man he walked out on and not just to buy a baguette. When the little girl has decided on the chocolate doughnut, right choice in Louis’ opinion, and paid, she steps out of the way and Louis steps forward. 

“How can I help you my love?” says the smiling woman. 

“Is Harry Styles here by any chance?” He hears his voice as though it is someone else’s. It sounds distant but very calm and polite.

“He’s just out the back. I can get him for you if you’d like?” 

Louis’ heart ramps up its fierce pace and he clenches his clammy palms into fists. 

“That would be great, thanks” he nods. 

She disappears through the bright strings of beads which hang from the little doorway behind the counter, and a few seconds later she returns giving a quick warm nod to Louis before moving along to serve the next customer. Louis waits. He stares at the doorway. The beads rustle and clang as a hand pushes through them and then Harry appears. 

His hair is scraped back from his face in a ponytail. Louis has never seen him like that before. His eyes are greener than Louis remembers and his cheek bones are sharper. He is staring at Louis with something akin to horror and suddenly Louis is terrified of him and terrified of just how much Harry has the power to destroy him completely, with one simple shake of his head, with one word. 

But then Harry speaks his name and the familiar gentleness of his voice pulls everything back into place. 

“Louis?”

He looks tentative and disbelieving, as though he can’t quite work out what he is seeing before him. He’s plastered to his spot and Louis wants nothing more than to jump over the counter and wrap him up in his arms and kiss every inch of him and beg him for forgiveness. 

“It’s me,” he says instead. 

He feels utterly helpless. He can’t remember what he is supposed to say despite the fact he has spent the entire night playing this exact moment over in his head a hundred times. 

Harry nods like he has finally accepted what his eyes are telling him.

“It’s you.”

“We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have read this far you are awesome and wonderful and I love you lots. If you have commented or left kudos I love you even more than lots! p.s. promise I will update quicker next week x


	10. Chapter 10

“How have you been?” Harry asks because it seems like the thing to say.

Louis lets out a short, mirthless laugh. 

“Honestly? Horrible. You?” 

His eyes are cast down and he’s fiddling with his fingers, looking up at Harry through his long, dark lashes. He looks sheepish almost, and nervous, which Harry hates to see. 

“Better now that you’re here.” He smiles a little, and Louis smiles back, small and cautious.

Harry reaches his hand across their little table and then thinks better of it. He doesn’t know why Louis is here yet. He reminds himself soberly that it might not be for a happy reason. 

They have crammed themselves into the furthest corner of the Starbucks across the street from the bakery. Thank goodness Barbara had allowed Harry a break. She had sent him a knowing look and a cautionary nod as he had thanked her profusely and flung off his apron, all the while keeping his eyes on Louis, as much out of fear that Louis might suddenly change his mind and do a runner as out of amazement that it really was Louis standing before him and not a cruel figment of his imagination. 

Louis is fidgeting in his seat, tearing absent-mindedly at the already frayed cuffs of his hoody. Harry wonders whether he should say something, or just wait. In the end he decides to wait. Eventually Louis takes a big breath and looks up at him with wide, earnest eyes.

“God this is harder than I thought it would be.” He’s looking at Harry in that way he does, when he wants to ask for help but doesn’t know how. Harry swallows the dry lump in his throat and ignores the knot that has formed in his stomach at Louis’ words. He holds his breath in anticipation. 

“Ok,” Louis begins, “so I have a whole load of things that I need to say and just, like, get out in the open but I kind of don’t know where to start…” 

“That’s ok,” Harry says patiently. “Start anywhere and we’ll figure it out.”

“Ok, ok… erm…,” Louis takes a deep breath and then says very quickly, “I haven’t been completely honest with you about myself. I mean, I haven’t… I haven’t like lied to you or anything I just… I need to tell you about me and what happened to me.” He lets out a shaky breath and looks down, pulling his hands onto his lap where Harry can’t see them anymore. “God, this is so stupid. I’m sorry I’m being ridiculous, I don’t even know how to explain it.”

“S’ok,” Harry’s voice comes out barely louder than a whisper. He knows how hard it is to put words to this. He wants to tell Louis that it really is ok, that he understands, he gets it, he knows. But he can’t. Not yet. He waits. 

“I’m just gonna say it.” Louis says, a sudden look of determination on his face. “I’m gonna say it fast… about nine months ago… I was raped.”

The word hangs between them after it has been said, violent and ugly. It cuts Harry to the heart. He knew it, of course he did, but he hadn’t _known_ for sure and a part of him had hoped desperately that he was wrong. He would have given anything to be wrong. 

Louis stares at Harry, wide-eyed, searching for a reaction, a sign of repulsion perhaps or pity. Harry feels rather sick. His voice sticks in his throat so he simply inclines his head slightly, encouraging Louis to go on.

Louis takes a deep breath. Behind him a baby begins to cry.

***

Louis talks. Harry sits quietly, staring down at his coffee mostly, occasionally looking up at Louis with wide eyes. Their corner of the café empties and fills up around them and they ignore it all.

“You have no idea how much it hurts” – outside a car honks its horn and a loud shout echoes across the quiet street. Harry blinks, shifting on his chair and gripping his coffee with white knuckles – “it’s not just physical pain. It’s like all of you hurts, not just your body. It’s like all there is is pain. Sort of tearing, desperate… it’s…” Louis struggles to find the right things to say. He’s all out of words. He feels like he has been talking for hours. Maybe he has.

“It’s like you’re being stripped of you.” 

Louis whips his eyes back to Harry who is looking at him earnestly. It’s the first he has spoken since Louis started talking. Is it a question? It didn’t sound quite like a question. 

“Yes,” Louis nods tentatively, and then more vigorously. “Yes, that’s what it is. Rape” – a mother passing their table on her way to the toilet flinches and scowls at Louis, clutching her child closer to her – “is like theft. It’s like they have stolen a part of me. The part which wants to let people in, and knows how to just be happy and not to be scared all the time. The part which made me so…” Louis laughs at himself. How does he summarise how he used to be to a man who has only ever known him like this? He sighs and changes tack. 

“You know how when you are young you always imagine yourself a certain way when you get older. You always imagine yourself better looking, taller” – Harry laughs softly – “well ok maybe not you, Mr lanky pants, but the rest of us” – Harry laughs again. Suddenly Louis feels lighter, talking feels easier. He continues. “Well I remember feeling really happy with how I turned out. It sounds weird but like, I remember thinking to myself, you know what, I’m not fussed about being better looking, I don’t care about being taller, this is me. I’m pretty awesome as I am right?” Louis’ voice falters. “It sounds crazy doesn’t it?”

Harry shakes his head, smiling softly. 

“It sounds wonderful.”

Louis laughs darkly.

“I suppose it does. But it also sounds so foreign now. Like somebody else’s thoughts. I know I used to feel confident but I don’t remember how it worked exactly. How I could be so… sure of everything. I was so camp!” he adds, shaking his head as though he can hardly believe his own words. “So very very camp. God you should have seen me!”

“I would have loved to.” Harry’s words are full of affection. 

Louis pauses thoughtfully, frowning down at his half-drunk coffee. 

“It’s the difference between colour, and black and white. Rainbows verses grey. The difference between summer and winter. It’s like… it used to be summer all the time! I used to wear braces for fuck’s sake, and red skinny jeans which showed off my arse and I used to laugh so much sometimes my cheeks would ache. And now it’s winter. It’s always winter all the time, and I just want to hibernate into myself and block everything out.”

Louis falls silent all of a sudden. He has no idea where this is coming from. He hates metaphors. Metaphors are for poets, and naive people who think there is beauty in sadness.

Harry is looking at Louis now with an expression that Louis can’t quite read. Louis smiles in spite of himself. Gorgeous, darling Harry who doesn’t fit into any stupid metaphors about winter at all. When Harry realises that Louis is smiling at him his eyes soften and he bites his lip, offering a half smile. Louis figures Harry must need time to process all of this. 

Suddenly the thought pops into his head. He can’t say it out loud. It will sound trite and insincere when spoken aloud. So he thinks it over and over, willing it to sail across coffee cups and into Harry’s heart.

 _If this is my winter, then maybe you are my spring._

New Louis would scorn at such hopelessly misguided romantic shite. Old Louis would have thought it wonderfully tacky and amusing. 

Louis decides he rather likes it. 

***

Harry suggests they go for a walk in the park round the corner. He stops by the bakery first to make sure it’s OK for him to essentially not do his shift. He worries his lip nervously and lets out an audible breath of relief when Barbara insists that of course, she’ll be fine, he should go. 

“And don’t come back until that little heart of yours is fixed,” she says gently, before waving him off. Louis, standing in the doorway, can’t quite look her in the eye. 

So much talk of hearts.

***

They walk around the glassy lake in silence. Louis presses in close to Harry, and Harry wraps his arm around Louis’ shoulders. Over and over he opens his mouth, about to speak, and then sighs, closing it and drawing Louis closer to him. 

When he feels Louis stop, he looks down frowning. Maybe the arm was too much, too soon. 

“Are you OK?” he asks. 

Louis nods. 

“Let’s sit here. This is a nice view.” Louis indicates the little bench a few metres back from the path. They are in a secluded part of the park where very few people ever care to venture. There are still no leaves on the trees but the bright sun glistens through the branches and dances across the green-blue lake, making it necessary to squint. 

“You’re probably wondering why I didn’t tell you before now?” Louis says. He is fiddling with his hands, looking out across the lake. His thigh is lightly pressed against Harry’s.

Harry doesn’t say anything. 

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know how to,” he continues. “I was scared that you would think of me differently and I couldn’t bear that. All of my friends, well they would never say this, but I know that they all see me differently now. Like, they tiptoe around certain topics in front of me and they give me these pitying looks and I just couldn’t bear to have you do that because the way that you looked at me…” he turns his head sharply, looks straight into Harry’s eyes, “the way that you looked at me made me feel like me again, for the first time since it happened I felt like maybe, just maybe, I was going to be ok after all. I couldn’t tell you because I _needed_ you to look at me like I _was_ ok. I didn’t want you to see that I wasn’t.”

Louis’ eyes are glassy with the wet sheen of held back tears. Harry knows what an effort it is for Louis to say these things, to force these words out of his mouth and with them lay his vulnerability bare. Harry realises that he hasn’t spoken in a while, and now Louis is looking at him expectantly. No not expectantly. Fearfully. Louis is looking at Harry in fear and that makes Harry want to cry. 

“Louis,” he begins softly, shaking his head, “I could never look at you differently. You’re you. You’re wonderful and amazing and I think the world of you and more. What happened to you doesn’t change that.”

Louis’ shoulders visibly sag and he relaxes a fraction back against the bench. 

“Really?”

“Of course. I’m so sorry that you ever doubted that.”

“No, don’t be. It’s not your fault. I have… _trust issues_.” Louis frames his last two words with air-quotes.

“I get that,” Harry replies, nodding thoughtfully. 

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

Louis sends Harry a small smile. It’s blinding.

“Thank you Harry.”

“For what?”

“For making this feel easy.”

Harry takes Louis’ hand where it is resting on his thigh and squeezes it. He feels horrible. Louis has been so honest with him. He has told him everything and trusted him completely. 

“You always make things easier. You’re so together. You’re like… my rock, I swear.” Louis’ voice is full of trust. Harry opens his mouth but nothing comes out. 

He smiles gingerly and Louis smiles back, scooting closer and leaning against him. Harry rests his cheek on the top of Louis’ head and they both look out across the water. 

“I’m so sorry I kept this from you.” Louis says quietly. 

“Don’t be.” Harry shifts a fraction. His leg is numb and his back aches against the cold bench. 

“No I mean it. I should have just told you, instead of pushing you away. Because that’s what it was you know. That’s what these last few miserable weeks have been about. You know that don’t you?”

“Hmm?” Harry hums.

“That’s why I walked out that morning. That’s why I couldn’t, you know, have sex and stuff. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to. It was because I was scared. Scared of how you made me feel. I knew that if we were going to be together I was going to have to tell you and I couldn’t and I thought you deserved better than me and…”

Louis is playing with Harry’s fingers, entwining them with his own. His head is resting heavily against Harry’s chest. Harry breathes slowly, closing his eyes. 

This is the difference between him and Louis. Louis is brave and he is a coward. Louis feels his pain and although he wears it like a shield, he is willing to set that shield aside for Harry. Harry doesn’t know if he can ever put down his shield. It’s so effective most of the time it fools even him. He doesn’t know where he ends and it begins. It’s had years to mould to the contours of his skin. 

“I thought maybe” – Harry tries to focus solely on Louis’ voice – “if I just walked away, it would be easier, and I would just fall out of love with you and I wouldn’t have to let you in, because the thought of letting you in scared me so much. It still scares me. I’m so in love with you I don’t know how to handle it, but all I know is I have to be completely honest with you if there is any chance for us to be together.”

Louis’ voice remains so steady that it takes Harry several sluggish moments to process what he has said. 

_…fall out of love with you… I’m so in love with you…_

The words ring louder and clearer each time Harry replays them in his head, until suddenly they break the surface of his mind, as though rushing up from underwater, to emerge, gasping for air, real and alive. 

Harry turns to stare at Louis, and Louis sits up, frowning slightly at the violence of Harry’s sudden action.

“You love me?” he says it desperately, searching Louis’ face as though his life depends on it. “You’re in love with me?”

“Of course,” Louis nods, staring into Harry’s eyes with a force which Harry thinks might knock him out. “Did I not mention?”

“I…” Harry searches his face again, shaking his head. “You love me?”

“Yes,” Louis’ face breaks into a nervous smile, his eyes crinkle. “It’s fucking terrifying but that’s the way it is! I love you Harry, so much. I’m so in love with you. You make me see colour again. You’re everything that’s good about this world and you’re so lovely, with your curls and your dimples” - Harry feels a rush inside him, like a hot bubbling joy rising up until he feels like it might overflow – “and your kindness and your hugs and your smile and just the way that you make me want to live and want to be better. How could I not be in love with you Harry? You’re ridiculously easy to love… You’re…”

Louis is cut off mid-sentence as Harry lunges at him, catching his lips in a bruising kiss, clutching him tightly. Harry’s heart is pounding. He wants to sing and he wants to cry. He kisses Louis like he is his lifeblood, clutching desperately at his shirt, his cheeks, his hair.

Harry wrenches their lips apart again, just long enough to catch his breath. Louis has his hands tangled in Harry’s hair and Harry concentrates on their solid tug, holding him down. He thinks if not for them he might float away. 

“I love you too Louis.”

Louis nods, breathless. He rests his forehead against Harry’s but Harry pulls away, needing to look deep into Louis’ eyes, make him understand what he is saying. 

“I’m in love with you too.” His voice is almost violent. “I’ve been in love with you for months. I love you. With everything I have.”

“I know,” Louis nods, his voice small and full of awe, “I think I’ve known for a while but I only really realised it when Ed said I broke your heart.”

Harry laughs, all of a sudden hysterical. He realises with a start that Louis’ cheeks are wet with tears. He brings up a hand to wipe them away. 

“Ed, hah, Ed can be such a drama queen!” Harry stumbles over his words.

They both know he doesn’t mean it.

“I’m so sorry Harry.” 

“No, I’m sorry Lou.”

“What on earth are you sorry for?” Louis is frowning, pulling back. 

Harry shakes his head. Now is not the time. 

“Seriously Harry, I mean it. I’m so sorry. I broke your heart after you fixed mine.”

“Shhh, it’s OK.” Harry shakes his head again, and feels a smile growing and growing until he’s sure it must no longer fit his face. “My heart is doing just fine.” 

He kisses Louis again, deep and powerful, until all thoughts of broken hearts and apologies are gone. I love you, he kisses. I love you too, Louis kisses back. 

***

They spend the rest of the afternoon in comfortable silences, punctuated by small confessions of affection and little snippets of conversation which to the outside ear would not sound like the words of two people whose worlds had just collided. 

Harry is very quiet, but every time Louis catches his eye, he smiles. 

“I love you,” they both say, over and over, as though keeping something precious alive. 

They walk miles, through the park and then along the streets around Harry’s house, down through the afternoon crowds of Brick Lane. They cross a bridge over a railway and they stop for a few minutes to look out across the tracks, watching the birds fly low over the London skyline. Sunday afternoon sits heavily in the quiet clouds. Harry leans both his elbows on the railing and frowns in thought, curls occasionally whipping across his face in the wind. 

“Did you go to the police?”

Louis lets out a heavy sigh and grips the railing, watching as a train rushes by underneath them.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t.”

He’s silent for a moment and Harry doesn’t say anything. Just nods slightly. 

“I wanted to. I mean… I felt I should. Liam tried to make me go but I just couldn’t face it. I wanted to forget all about it, not relate it all back to some homophobic cop who probably wouldn’t give a shit anyway. And I had no proof. I couldn’t even tell you what the other two guys looked like. I…”

Harry nods again and says quietly,

“I get that.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Louis steps closer to the railing, shuffling up to Harry and placing his elbows down so that their arms are pressed against each other. Harry turns his head with a small smile playing at his lips and looks Louis straight in the eye. For a moment Louis wonders whether, if Harry asked him to jump with him right now, fall headlong off the bridge, he would do it. Harry presses further into Louis, leaning forward until they softly bump noses and hips.

“You don’t judge me?” Louis whispers closing his eyes.

“No.” 

“Like, I know I should have turned them in. I would hate to think it might happen to someone else because I didn’t stop it…” 

Louis can feel Harry’s head shaking from the way his nose is brushing against Louis’. A moment later a warm kiss is placed on his lips and he opens his eyes just in time to see Harry grinning at him.

“You have a cute nose. Did anyone ever tell you that?” 

“Actually I have been told, yes.” Louis can’t help but smile despite that familiar feeling of guilt which has nagged at him on and off for the past year. He wonders if maybe he should go to the police anyway. Maybe it’s not too late. 

“And you have the most gorgeous smile,” Harry continues, looking deep into Louis’ eyes in a way which makes his stomach swoop. “Your eyes go all crinkly and you get these wonderful little lines…” Harry trails off, as though almost in a daze.

“I hate how wrinkly my eyes get,” Louis mumbles, blushing under Harry’s scrutiny. Harry just blinks at him. “I’m going to have terrible crow’s feet by the time I’m thirty.”

“Not crow’s feet. Laughter lines.” Harry is so close again Louis can feel the flutter of his warm breath against his skin, distinct from the cold, February air. “They’re gorgeous.”

Harry gently places his finger at the corner of Louis’ eye. The action is so silly Louis can’t help but smile and when he does, Harry’s face lights up and he softly strokes the wrinkles there. Or crinkles, as Harry called them. Louis thinks he might prefer that. 

Louis matches Harry’s action by bringing up his thumb to press into Harry’s dimple. Harry laughs and turns his head just quickly enough to catch Louis’ thumb in a kiss. Louis finds that he is laughing too. 

They kiss again on the bridge, as trains swoop by underneath, sending vibrations through the earth, up through bricks and mortar, all the way into Louis’ beating heart. 

The sun is low in the sky when they decide that they are hungry. Louis suggests that Harry come back to his house, where he knows for a fact Niall, Liam and Zayn are doing pizza night. Liam had text him to say as much and to shout at him in text capitals for worrying him shitless for ignoring his phone all day. 

On the tube, Harry takes Louis’ hand. A girl about their age sitting across from them notices their hands and smiles. Louis catches her eye and smiles back. She is beautiful, he thinks. 

As they turn onto Rowntree Avenue something suddenly occurs to Louis. 

“By the way, did I mention, Liam and Zayn are a thing now?”

“What?” Harry stops in his tracks, staring slightly bemusedly down at Louis. “Are you serious?”

“Ah, so I am not the only one who is blind.” Louis says smugly, walking a few steps ahead. Harry has to jog to catch up. 

“As in… they’re a couple?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought Zayn was straight?”

“What? No Harry, of course he’s not straight.” Louis thinks for a moment. “Although I don’t think he is gay either. He’s just… Zayn.”

Harry laughs disbelievingly. 

“Well, what do you know. Zayn and Liam.” Harry shakes his head. Louis smiles to himself as he notices that their feet are moving perfectly in sync with each other. 

“Ziam if you will,” he says. Harry laughs, his bright musical laugh and Louis tries to think back to the last time he was ever this happy. He’s not sure there was a time. 

“So that would make us… Larry?” Harry’s grin is infectious.

“Eurgh,” Louis crinkles his nose, huddling closer to Harry who stretches an arm around him, “what an unfortunate name! Like a middle-aged brick-layer. I much prefer Houis.”

“Like a hoity-toity French king!”

They are both laughing more than is warranted. Louis’ cheeks ache from a day spent smiling and Harry’s dimples seem to have permanently carved themselves into his cheeks.

“So now it’s just Niall and Ed left,” Harry offers in as serious a tone as he can muster when their laughter has calmed. “Ned?” 

Louis shudders.

“I don’t think you could find two more heterosexual men if you tried. Although maybe their love of guitars might be enough to bring them together!”

“Heterosexual? Hmm, if you say so. But I’ll tell you this, Ed can spoon a man like the gayest of the gays when the mood takes him.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” Louis asks haughtily, pinching Harry’s side as they reach his house.

“Maybe,” Harry says sheepishly. 

“Uh,” Louis juts out his chin, stopping in front of the gate to turn and glare at Harry, “well from now on _I_ shall be the only one spooning you, thank you very much!” He rocks forward on his toes to kiss Harry squarely on the mouth. He grins, “and I call big spoon!”

“Fine by me,” Harry smiles softly, kissing Louis back. 

Seriously, how can so much happiness fit into one day, Louis muses as he rummages in his pocket for his keys. He can feel Harry’s hands placed gently on his hips, and when Harry leans in close to kiss the back of his neck, Louis’ whole body shivers. 

“We’re here!” Louis shouts as he drags Harry into the hallway, kicking off their shoes right by the door, just where it most annoys Eleanor.

“Hey Louis,” Liam’s voice answers back from the landing, “who’s _we_? Oh…” He stops at the top of the stairs.

Louis takes Harry’s hand in his and rushes up the stairs. When he reaches the top he pecks Liam on the cheek. Harry beside him, waves and offers up a sheepish _hello_.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it’s rude to stare Liam?” Louis heads into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge. He gets one for Harry too. “My goodness, I’ve just realised I haven’t eaten a thing all day. There better be plenty of pizza. And none of that vegetarian shit, I’m talking proper food.”

He emerges from the kitchen just in time to see Liam giving Harry a quizzical look and Harry grinning at Louis like he is the sun. 

“Ah yes, sorry Liam. I should explain. Harry and I are back together. We talked. I explained, or at least I attempted to explain, why I was being such a twat. I apologised. He was lovely and forgiving as is his way. And now voila, we are here and ready for pizza.”

Liam’s gaze is flickering between Louis and Harry. He looks surprised and amused. He lets out a little huff of laughter before dragging Harry into a hug. 

“It’s good to have you back mate. And honestly, thank goodness! He’s been truly unbearable.”

“Oi,” Louis kicks Liam softly in the shin, trying to keep the fond out of his voice and failing.

Niall’s and Zayn’s reactions are similar variants on Liam’s _do-I-ask?-no-I’ll-wait-for-you-to-tell-me_ theme. They both attempt to keep the surprise off their faces, pretty rapidly schooling their demeanours into something akin to casual although Louis doesn’t miss the questioning glances they both throw to Liam. 

Niall of course, greets Harry with all customary loudness and happy aplomb, and Harry greets him back as though they are old school friends. Zayn is slightly quieter. Louis supposes he has probably seen Harry, via Ed, during the whole hideous Louis-induced hiatus. But still Louis catches Zayn throw a wink his way, clearly as happy as the others to see Harry and Louis together again. 

Together. Harry and Louis together. 

This concept whirls around his mind at a thousand miles per second. He can’t quite believe it. Louis feels like he is walking on air and before each step he has to remind himself that this is OK, this is real. He’s not about to fall. And even if he were, Harry would catch him. 

They watch football. They watch some shitty movie that Liam and Niall insisted had a good trailer. They talk about not much of anything and yet they never shut up. They stuff their faces with pizza and wash it down with beer and they laugh at things which wouldn’t be funny except for how wonderful everything is. 

Although the room has two couches they find themselves piled around one. Liam snuggled into one corner, with Zayn lounging lazily on the floor at his feet. Next to Zayn is Niall, leaning against Harry’s shins, socked feet stretched out along the carpet. Harry, all limbs and sweet smelling musk, is snuggled into the other corner of the sofa, one arm reaching around the back of it. Louis is leaning into him, his head resting against the crook of Harry’s arm, where it meets his broad chest. Louis’ legs are stretched across Liam’s lap and the top of Zayn’s quiff brushes his calves whenever Zayn tips his head back to rest against Liam’s inner thigh. Harry keeps kissing the top of Louis’ head whenever he thinks the other boys are distracted. 

It’s heaven. 

And to think, just twenty-four hours ago Louis was stretched out on this very couch all alone, feeling sorry for himself. Glancing around at his boys now, he doesn’t think he has ever felt less alone in his life. Sure he’s still as fucked up as anyone, but right in that moment Louis reckons it doesn’t matter. 

That night, when Harry and Louis are lying cheek to pillow, nose to nose, in Louis’ bed, Louis whispers those three little words one more time. Harry whispers them back. They kiss slowly in each other’s arms, savouring every slide of their tongues over tingling lips. Their cold ankles intertwine.

Louis is almost afraid to close his eyes, for fear that he will wake to find himself still pressed against that cold, hard, front door, back aching, stairwell empty, and Harry somewhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again sorry for how long this has taken me to post! Work has been crazy hectic! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. If you did please leave kudos and comments and whatever wonderful things you can and come visit me at [happilylarreh](http://happilylarreh.tumblr.com/post/119548849370/happilylarreh-we-the-fireworks-by-happilylarreh#notes) :) thank you so much for reading. Until next week...


	11. Chapter 11

Harry has never known such intense happiness, nor such crippling guilt. He can’t make up his mind from one moment to the next whether he wants to sing from the rooftops or bury his head in the sand. He knows one thing for sure. Louis makes him utterly dizzy. 

On Wednesday afternoon, Louis has to work at the cinema, and Harry takes the opportunity to go home and get fresh underwear and a toothbrush. It’s the first time he has been at his flat since Saturday evening, when he had headed for Ed’s, despairing at the hopelessness of his life without Louis. 

Harry smiles as he turns the key. He should probably send Ed an update. 

The first thing he sees when he enters his flat is the note, face-up on his desk. The setting sun falls through the blinds, illuminating the paper in a warm, pink glow, which feels almost intentional. A spotlight on Louis’ wide, hurried scrawl, his declaration of love. Harry can’t stop smiling as he reaches for the light switch. 

And then he groans. His place is a tip. He hadn’t noticed quite how bad it had got. Last week, the crumpled up clothes strewn across the floor, topped by scattered unwashed plates and empty beer cans had seemed only innocuous accessories to his misery; fitting external signifiers of his internal state. Now however, they are an affront to his happiness. And more than that, they are pretty fucking disgusting.

With a wrinkled nose, Harry gingerly picks up the plates, holding them at arm’s length, and dumps them unceremoniously into the sink. The beer cans go into the recycling and the clothes into the washing machine. He picks up all the extra bits of paper around his desk, sorting them out into a neat pile. He makes his bed. He deliberates over what to do with the note. It feels momentous somehow. Like a piece of artwork worthy of a gilded frame. But on the other hand, it’s too private, too intimate to be displayed. In the end Harry settles on the solution of tucking it into a little book of poetry. One of the few books in his tiny flat and one which in fact Louis, despite his own distaste for books, had bought him. 

They had been in a bookshop on Portobello Road, one Saturday at the end of November. Louis had grumbled that bookshops were not his thing, and Harry had teased him for being uncultured, before regaling him with silly-voiced renditions of Shakespeare sonnets. He remembers vividly how Louis had tried so hard to look annoyed and unimpressed, how he hadn’t been able to keep the smile from his face when Harry had leaned over and whispered _Shall I Compare Thee_ in his ear, inappropriately loud, all pseudo-seductive bravado. Louis had giggled. Properly giggled, and Harry had had the sensation, not for the first time, of falling and wanting to fall. The man behind the counter had snarled at the sight of them and Harry had made sure to turn the two of them ever so slightly so that Louis wouldn’t notice. Later that afternoon Louis had produced the book of poetry from his jacket, sheepishly, like a shoplifter returning his stolen goods. 

“How…? When…?” Harry had gasped, staring down at the book.

“When you were looking at that picture book of animals. It wasn’t hard you know, you are ridiculous about animals.” When Harry had taken a beat too long to reply, still in awe of Louis, a look of hesitation had passed across Louis’ face. “I know it’s silly, you just seemed to like it…”

“Thank you, it’s perfect. I love it!” 

I love you, Harry had thought, but not said. He had wanted to ask Louis to write something in it, like people do when they give books sometimes. But he had felt silly. 

Harry tucks the note into the front page of the book, and places it carefully on his shelf. Pride of place, he thinks. 

Next he jumps in the shower and as he dries off, he gets Ed on speaker phone, updates him on his life, tries his hardest not to sound like a grinning, gushing lovesick lunatic, does a decent-ish job of it. Then he tackles his computer. His Tumblr has gone rather to shit of late, and he doesn’t want that, but the prospect of responding to each and every message in his inbox is exhausting. This is what he gets for being such an obsessively regular blogger. One post every day at least, for over two years, making his current absence very noticeable indeed. Although, he has to admit to himself, it is quite nice to think that people who he has never met, care. 

He had always made a point of never posting any text posts on his blog, photography only, any commentary confined to overly long tags, but now… well, he reckons now, one text post might just be in order. He types it and re-types it what feels like a hundred times and he still isn’t satisfied when he presses the post button. 

_Thanks to all my followers who have checked up on me these past few weeks. They’ve been pretty rough shall we say, but I’m back now, hopefully for good, thanks to a certain blue-eyed boy who apparently you are all as in love with as I am._

He fixates on that little four-letter word. He can’t get over being able to say it out loud. Doesn’t think he will ever get over it. And hearing it said back to him. Well that is just something else. Glad that there is nobody around to witness his dopey grin, he searches his own blog and scrolls through his _blue-eyed boy_ tag. Louis in soft, half-light, puffy with sleep and poking his tongue out at the camera. Louis scowling, mid-sentence. Louis laughing. Louis pouting. Louis’ finely cut profile watching TV, a second before realising he is being photographed and leaning over to wrestle the camera from Harry, tickling him until he falls from the sofa onto the floor. 

Harry’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Speak of the devil. 

_Is it bad that I miss you already? ☹ <3 xxx_

Harry laughs softly, lying back on his mattress, letting his laptop slide slightly off his lap. 

_I miss you too! How’s work? Xxx_

It only takes a few seconds for Harry’s phone to buzz again. He can picture Louis so clearly, hiding his phone under the counter, texting ferociously fast between customers.

_Boring. I’m on with Ian. He is so tedious it’s not even funny. Xxx_

_Which one is Ian? I could come down and entertain you if you’d like? ;) xxx_

Harry watches his screen expectantly and when it doesn’t immediately buzz he starts to worry. Perhaps that was too pushy. They have only just said goodbye three hours ago. When Louis said he missed him, he probably didn’t mean, hey come down to my work, invade every part of my life. Oh god, why is Harry such a twat. 

_Grrr sorry bout that! Just had the world’s most annoying customer making the world’s dumbest complaint!! I would love for you to come here ☺ if you want to of course? Xxx_

Harry lets out a huge sigh of relief and berates himself internally for being so silly. Just as he is putting on his jacket and scrabbling around for his keys his phone goes off again.

_Love you ☺ xxx_

God, Louis might just be the death of him. 

***

Ian is deadly dull and the night is a slow one. 

Louis keeps glancing at his phone but he knows that Harry is somewhere on the underground right now so there is no point texting him. Instead he taps out a message to Zayn.

_Ian just told me a story about how he once met a guy who went to school with the brother of one of the members of Bananarama. It took him seven minutes to tell it. I timed him. Kill me._

Zayn sends back an emoji of a gun. Helpful, Louis thinks grimly. Ian is in the middle of one of his delightful explanations as to how and why he decided to change broadband provider again, an on-going saga in the Ian household it seems, when Harry walks through the door. 

Just the sight of him makes Louis want to beam all over. He jumps up, not even caring that he has interrupted Ian mid-whinge, and rushes around the counter. He quickly checks that Nick isn’t coming down the stairs and that there are no customers present before pecking Harry on the lips. Harry smells like apple shampoo.

“Hey you”, he says softly.

“Hey you too.”

Harry spends the rest of Louis’ shift hovering at the counter. Ian deals with most of the customers who come through the door, leaving Louis free to stare greedily at Harry whose shirt, when he leans across the counter, gapes just wide enough to show the tips of his swallow tattoos. It takes Louis every inch of self-restraint to remember that he is in fact at work, and whilst Nick, being gay himself, would probably not object too much to the sight of Louis and Harry making out over the popcorn machine, the old dears in to see _The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel_ just might.

There is a bit of a rush before the nine o’clock showing and Harry takes a seat near the entrance to the foyer, playing about on his phone a bit, watching some of the customers with mild interest and every now and again looking up at Louis with such affection on his face that Louis loses all sense of self, and more than once has to apologise profusely for putting through the wrong transaction on the till.

When the final customer is in and the doors to the screen are firmly shut, Harry wanders back to the counter, a slight frown knitting his brow.

“Don’t suppose you know what happened to Bren do you?”

“Who?” says Louis, opening the till to begin cashing up.

“Bren.” Harry leans against the counter again. He is so close. If Louis just leaned across on his tiptoes he could nestle his nose into Harry’s long sweeping curls, run his fingers through them. “You know, the homeless guy who sits across the road. With the dog.”

“Oh yeah,” Louis frowns in thought, “I haven’t seen him in ages.”

“Like, how long?”

“Dunno,” Louis shrugs and tips a handful of coins into one of the plastic pouches. “Not for a while.”

“Like a few weeks or...?”

Louis frowns up at Harry. Harry is staring out through the glass doors. He looks deeply troubled. When Louis doesn’t respond Harry looks back at him expectantly. 

“I don’t know Harry. More than a few weeks. I think maybe not since before Christmas. Why?”

Harry shrugs, although if he is going for casual he isn’t fooling anyone. 

“It just worries me, after winter and all. It was especially cold this year as well.” He seems to be speaking half to himself. He pauses for a moment and Louis stands awkwardly, not quite sure what to say. Then Harry, thankfully, shakes himself out of it. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Yeah, he’s probably just moved. They move around a lot I think.” For a beat, Harry looks at Louis so strangely, it feels almost as though they don’t know each other. And then before Louis can blink, Harry is smiling and the offbeat seems so inconsequential Louis wonders if he didn’t just imagine it. 

“Fancy pub tonight?” Harry says brightly, “Ed is playing a gig.”

***

“Oh,” says Harry in the taxi, glancing down at his phone. “Apparently it’s not a pub, it’s a club.”

Louis groans dramatically. 

“We don’t have to pay entry do we?”

“Good point,” Harry agrees, texting rapidly on his phone. When it buzzes again he announces that no, they don’t have to pay entry, Ed has got them on the VIP guest list. 

“Hah,” says Louis, “VIP? I’m wearing my bloody work clothes.” He tries to keep his tone light, but from the way Harry is looking at him he knows he must be pretty transparent. 

“Lou,” Harry begins gently, “we don’t have to go if you don’t want. Ed will understand.”

Louis frowns irritably and snaps a little too bluntly.

“I’m fine. We said we’re going so we’re going.”

“Ok”, Harry nods simply. He takes Louis’ hand in his and gazes calmly out of the window.

God you’re wonderful, Louis thinks, all irritability seeping away as quickly as it appeared. 

They trundle through streets which Louis doesn’t recognise, accompanied by the unfamiliar twang and jangle of some Bollywood number blaring out of the radio. Louis may have said that he’s fine but it’s a big fat lie and they both know it. As they approach the club, he feels himself tense up and he tries to calm his nerves, focusing instead on Harry’s thumb which is lightly drawing circles across the back of his hand. 

At the door to the club, Harry has his hand on the small of Louis’ back, guiding him in as he leans over to give their names to the security woman on the door. She gives Louis a strange look as she stamps both their wrists and directs them to the VIP area, which looks, as far as Louis can tell, like any other area apart from the fact that it is marked off by a sad piece of red rope and a stern security man who is about six foot seven.

The crowd is loud and the music is louder. It’s some sort of Britpop, indie, London Calling type event judging from the posters outside. Not really Louis’ crowd but still the sort of thing he would have definitely enjoyed once upon a time. He realises now that he’s here, that he hasn’t been proper clubbing since that night he first met Harry, drunk off his face. And, he realises with a guilty pang, he hasn’t been clubbing sober since… well, for a long, long time. 

Just as they are approaching the giant of a security guard, who is eyeing them up as though he has absolutely no intention of letting them in, Ed’s grinning face appears among the crowd, bobbing towards them. He is saying something, opening his arms in welcome, pulling them past the security guard and into the painfully hipster throng behind the red rope.

“So glad you guys could make it,” he seems to be shouting above the music. He pulls Louis into a gruff hug and Louis can’t help but smile. “It’s good to see you mate.”

“You too,” Louis shouts back, relieved to be unable to detect any of the coldness Ed’s voice had contained on the phone.

“This is awesome,” Harry says, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Innit,” Ed agrees enthusiastically. “There is an A&R guy from Atlantic Records here! For me!”

Apparently this means more to Harry than it does to Louis, as Harry’s eyes go very wide. Even in the strange, coloured lights of the club, Harry’s eyes are as green as a cat’s.

“Wow man, that’s great…” 

Harry is beaming at Ed, and asking him about things which don’t make sense to Louis, half of their words lost to him in the surrounding din. He stays close to Harry, whose hand never leaves his hip. When Harry leans closer to talk to Ed in more depth, he simply pulls Louis into him tighter so that Louis has the funny image of a small child pressed between two conversing parents. He likes it though; the feeling of knowing Harry won’t let him go unless he wants him to.

After a few minutes a tall girl in a weird sort of jumpsuit and Dr Martens pulls Ed away. He throws an apologetic grin over his shoulder as he is swallowed up by a crowd of glamazons. 

“Wow,” says Harry, turning into Louis so that their hips are pressed together. “Things are really taking off for Ed.”

“Maybe one day he’ll be famous.” Louis raises his eyebrows and looks square up at Harry, centring himself against his body. 

“Maybe,” Harry looks down fondly at Louis, wrapping both his arms around him. “Would be pretty cool to be friends with a popstar.”

Louis rocks forward and kisses Harry on the mouth. When he pulls away Harry’s eyes are shut and it takes a moment for them to flutter open. When they do they are slightly dazed.

“Shall we get a drink?” Louis suggests. Although he is feeling much calmer than when they first walked in, he’s still feeling pretty high strung and figures a beer or two might be a good way to relax. 

“Sure,” says Harry, looking around to see where the bar is. Just like that a club rep, all dressed in goth-glam black appears next to Harry’s shoulder. 

“Can I get you two any drinks?” she says in a voice which manages to be clear without shouting.

“Er… yeah,” Harry looks around slightly bemused. Clearly he is no more used to the VIP treatment than Louis is. “I’ll have a beer and…?” He motions towards Louis.

“Two beers,” Louis says in response. 

“You know drinks for the VIP guestlist are on the house right?” she smirks at both of them. Louis can’t decide whether she is patronising or charming.

“Beer is fi…” Harry begins until Louis tugs at his shirt sharply. 

“We will have two of your most expensive, most enormous cocktails please.” Louis says determinedly. “And a beer for Harry.”

As she saunters off, Harry grins down at Louis, wrapping his arms around his body once again and pulling him close. 

“Most expensive, most enormous cocktails?” 

“Yeah, that’s a drink,” Louis retorts indignantly. “It’s a classic. _I’ll have one most enormous, most expensive_ ,” – His best James Bond impression - “ _Shaken not stirred_.” 

The enormous, expensive cocktails turn out to be very enormous indeed and very pink. Fruity with a tingly hint of fizz which Louis suspects may be champagne. They drink their cocktails, pressed close together, swaying in time to the music. Harry’s cheeks hollow as he sucks on his straw and then round out with a dimple when he catches Louis eyeing him up. Their kisses taste sweet and sticky like strawberry and become sloppier as their glasses empty. After maybe forty-five minutes the music cuts out and a host appears on a stage, which Louis had not previously noticed, to the right of the VIP area. 

The host is gorgeous, Louis notes mildly. Not really his type, his type being, essentially Harry. But definitely the sort of guy Louis would have happily spent an evening lusting after in his wayward youth. He does some spiel which has several members of the crowd in stitches, although personally Louis is unimpressed, and then he introduces Ed in a whirlwind of clichés.

“According to Time Out he is the future of music! You saw him here first! It’s the man you’ve all been waiting for…. the one… the only… ED SHEEERAAAAN!” 

The crowd erupts into applause and Louis looks around stunned. Last time he went to see Ed was before Christmas, before the whole New York thing and that video of his which went viral according to Zayn. Louis has been meaning to watch it, he has. He feels awful. This is Liam and Zayn all over again. How does Louis manage to be this self-absorbed and still have people who want to be his friends? 

Harry is cheering as loud as anyone. Louis knows because it’s happening right by his ear. He winces and then laughs when he says Harry’s crestfallen face, and starts cheering himself, looking for Harry to join in again. 

“This next song,” Ed says about halfway through his set, “was inspired by a conversation I had with one of my best friends. He’s a bit of an enigma, but I know he’s been through a shit tonne of stuff and yet he’s still got the biggest heart of anyone I know. And, this guy… so this guy he fell in love with…”

Suddenly Louis’ breath catches. Ed is searching the crowd in a focused way as he is speaking and Louis knows he’s looking for them. He glances up at Harry, who is smiling innocently, not yet cottoned on.

“… this guy he fell in love with is great, really good guy I think. But he’s been through a shit tonne too and… well, they’re kind of perfect for each other. Only it took them both a while to realise it…” A couple of girls in the crowd are ooing and awwing at each other. Louis looks at them strangely. He feels like an imposter with a secret. 

“Anyway, this one’s for you guys.” Ed’s eyes finally land on Harry and Louis, and linger for a moment. “Here goes…”

A couple of people just in front of Louis must also notice Ed’s line of vision as they turn around curiously and stare at Louis, who gives them a nervous sort of apologetic yep-you-got-me shrug. 

“Oh my god…” Harry’s breath brushes against Louis’ ear. “Do you think he was talking about us?”

The song is beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Louis doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s sort of awkward. Like being serenaded indirectly. But it’s incredible as well. The lyrics are so touching, so simple and almost too cute at times, but they are so sincere that Louis’ heart aches. 

He glances up occasionally, turning to look at Harry who has his cheek pressed against Louis’ hair. He had been swaying the two of them to all of Ed’s songs before, but now he is stood stock still.

When the song ends and the crowd applauds, their loudest applause yet, Louis turns to Harry. Harry looks so shell-shocked Louis wants to laugh. 

“You OK there?” he says gently into Harry’s ear, tugging slightly on his curls. 

“I’m…” Harry shakes his head and blinks. “That was stuff I said.” His confusion seems to border on the indignant. 

“What do you mean?” Louis asks. Ed’s next song has started up but Louis stays turned to Harry.

“I mean, all that stuff he wrote about in the song. I recognised my own words in there. Stuff I said to him when I was drunk and upset about you.” Harry blushes as he seems to realise the gravity of what he is saying. “I mean, he made it rhyme and stuff but…” he trails off, shrugging incredulously. “Never imagined my ramblings would end up as a song!”

Louis doesn’t know what to say. That was Harry? Those words were Harry’s words? A wave of love rushes through him, riding high on pink fizz and guitar music, and he tangles his hand firmly into Harry’s hair, pulling him down to kiss him deeply. He doesn’t even care that the crowd around them is pressed in tight. Harry is pressed in tighter and that’s all that he needs. They kiss desperately, Harry pushing into Louis’ mouth, tender but firm, and they only break occasionally just long enough to catch their breaths and laugh into each other’s eyes before crashing their lips together again. 

As the crowd breaks into another round of applause and Ed announces that he only has a couple more songs, which is met with a sad “ohhh” from the audience, Harry grins cheekily at Louis, and takes his hand, giving a gentle tug towards the side of the room near the bar. 

“Bit more discreet. I kind of feel bad for the poor people next to us,” he says by way of explanation. Louis simply shrugs and goes in for another kiss. This time, with Harry pressed against the wall, Louis pushes his thigh in between Harry’s legs. 

It’s strange, this public display of affection. Louis can’t quite figure out how he is managing to enjoy it without freaking out about the crowd of strangers all around them, but somehow he is. He’s more than enjoying it, he’s absolutely loving it. It’s divine. Harry’s mouth tastes like pink champagne and strawberries. Harry’s hands are around his waist, pulling him closer and closer, inch by inch, until their hips are pressed together. Louis can feel a slight tug at the front of his jeans where his cock is swelling uncomfortably. He pushes forward slightly and a shiver of pleasure courses through his body. Harry lets out a moan, and pulls back, gasping for air. His eyes are glassy and his lips are swollen pink. He is looking at Louis hesitantly, a slight glint of confusion in his eyes. 

“Shall we get out of here?” Louis says. It’s not an answer to the question he knows Harry is asking but suddenly he really wishes they were somewhere quiet, just the two of them. 

“OK,” Harry nods, “let’s go. I’ll text Ed on the way.”

Outside the club, the cold wind is warded off by the warm buzz which is running through Louis’ limbs. He’s horny. For the first time in forever he is horny and not drunk. Ok he is maybe a tiny bit tipsy but only a tiny bit. It was one cocktail. And he’s horny. Not in a self-loathing, desperate, feel-ashamed-right-after-it-happens kind of way. In an actually-wanting-to-have-sex kind of way. This is a day that should be marked in history, he thinks to himself as he sways slightly on the curb, giddy with the thought of it. 

In the cab Louis can’t keep his hands off of Harry. His hand on his thigh, his other hand in his hair. Harry is responding to every nudge with gentle, soft eyes and easy, open kisses. Their taxi-driver must hate them, Louis thinks to himself fleetingly. He doesn’t stop.

When they reach his house, Louis watches with frustration as his own hands tremble to unlock the door. Harry kisses his neck, humming sweet nothings into the night air. They pad softly up the stairs, fingers interlocked, Louis leading the way. The clock in the kitchen says it is half past midnight. 

When Louis gets to his door, he shuts it carefully behind them both and switches on the light. For a second Louis’ heart sinks. The light is a mistake, garishly dispelling the intimacy of the dark. But then Harry is kissing him again, and the brightly lit bedroom around them pales until Louis can see nothing but Harry. 

Their kisses become deeper and Louis feels his knees weaken under him. He grabs the front of Harry’s shirt, pulling him around so that Louis can lean against the back of the door. Harry’s hand hits the door with a loud thud which makes them both pause and grimace, listening for signs of disturbance in the silent house. After a few moments they look at each other and laugh, and before Louis can prepare himself for it, Harry is kissing him again, crowding him in, one hand deep in Louis’ hair, the other at his waist, guiding their hips together in small circular motions building up a rhythm. He kisses along his jaw and down his neck. Louis rests his head against the door, mouth hanging open, breath sharp and fast, as Harry moves his mouth down to his collar bones, sucking gently and shucking up Louis’ t-shirt with one hand. His warm, large palm pressed against Louis’ stomach pools heat underneath it. 

Suddenly Louis tenses. It’s a flash, a momentary lapse and he doesn’t know why it happens, but the moment it does Harry jumps back as though he is on fire. 

“Louis, are you ok? We don’t have to do anything… I’m sorry if I…” Harry’s eyes are wide with fear. Understandable, Louis thinks, considering the last time they were in this position. He shakes his head, smiling fondly, breath still heavy. 

“I’m ok…really,” he adds when Harry looks less then convinced. Harry has moved closer again, but is still too far away for his liking. He pulls him closer. “Honestly.”

Harry doesn’t look as though he believes him, but he responds with the most gorgeous purr when Louis kisses that soft spot of skin just below his ear. 

“Still,” he says, drawing back and opening his eyes again, “I don’t think tonight is the right time. I think we should be careful. Take it slow.”

Louis nods slowly. On the one hand, his cock very much begs to differ about taking things slow. On the other hand, even though he thinks he is ready, he doesn’t trust himself one hundred percent to know that he definitely is ready, and the risk of freaking out and repeating past mistakes, whilst low, is nevertheless a risk not worth taking. 

“Ok,” Louis whispers. Despite conceding, he pulls Harry back into a passionate kiss which has them both panting into each other’s mouths several moments later. 

“We shouldn’t,” Harry says, more to himself than Louis. 

“But I want you,” Louis whines, surprised by the neediness in his voice. The way Harry looks at him then, dark, wide pupils under matted curls, goes straight to his cock. He pushes his hips away from the door, pulling Harry into him. Harry let’s out a breathy moan, before closing his eyes. Suddenly he opens them again.

“Maybe…” he begins softly, so quietly Louis has to focus all his attention to hear him, which is difficult considering most of his energy is currently somewhere around his groin. “Maybe, if I…” Harry bites on his lip, before ducking his head down again to mouth at Louis’ neck, gentle at first and then slightly harder, more urgently. Louis closes his eyes in bliss, and only half hears the muttered words which Harry lays against his skin.

“…must tell me… if you want me to stop… promise me…” 

Louis is so blissed out at the feel of Harry’s tongue at the base of his neck, that he is slow to realise that Harry has stopped. He opens his eyes and looks down to see Harry, brow knitted, watching him. 

“Promise me you will tell me to stop if you don’t like it? Swear to me.”

Don’t like what? Louis doesn’t know but he knows it involves Harry so the chances that he _will_ like it are high. 

“I swear,” he nods his assurance and moans in relief when he feels Harry’s tongue on his skin again. Harry’s hands are just around the waistband of his jeans, playing loosely at the hem of his shirt. Harry pushes his thigh gently between Louis’ legs and the pressure on his cock makes him tip his head back against the solid door for support. 

Suddenly Harry drops to his knees, and Louis feels warm breath tickling his midriff. Harry has Louis’ t-shirt pushed halfway up his stomach and he stares for a moment in fascination, his hands holding Louis firmly in place. Louis looks down just in time to see Harry’s eyelashes flutter before he places a kiss on the softest part of Louis’ tummy, just below his belly button. Louis watches in awe as Harry seems to breathe him in, nosing a trail along the dark line of hair there, all the way down until he reaches the button on Louis’ jeans. Louis can feel his cock pressing against his zip, just an inch away from Harry’s lips. Harry looks up darkly, his eyes take a moment to focus on Louis’ face. When they do he raises his eyebrows a millimetre. A question. Louis nods. 

Harry deftly opens the fly of Louis’ jeans with one hand, the other stroking long soothing lines up and down Louis’ thigh, over his hip, up his side. Louis places one hand on Harry’s shoulder to steady himself. The anticipation alone is enough to make his legs feel like jelly. Harry glances up, at Louis’ touch, and Louis nods again, encouraging him to go on. His stomach is a tight knot of nerves and excitement, but he knows there is nothing he wants more in this moment than to feel Harry’s mouth on him. 

Harry noses at the exposed cotton of Louis’ boxers, placing a kiss straight onto the fabric over Louis’ aching cock. Louis lets out a gasp and when Harry is slow to move again, gives his shoulder the tiniest nudge. With that Harry tucks his fingers into Louis’ boxers and with one swift motion pulls them and the jeans down together. 

Louis has the sensation of swaying on the last step before reaching the top of a tall tower. He is acutely aware that his cock is exposed and for a second he feels foolish, imagining himself as he must look, hair a mess, sweaty t-shirt pushed up around his armpits, too giddy to think straight, too tongue-tied to communicate in anything but grunts. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry whispers in awe. His voice is low and distant. Louis feels his breath against his cock. When their eyes meet, Harry smiles slightly, greedily, and licks his lips. Louis smiles back, and moves his hand from Harry’s shoulder to run his thumb along Harry’s lips where his tongue has left them pink and glistening. 

“So are you,” he says, voice gruff and breaking. Harry kisses the pad of Louis’ thumb and then leans forward, breathing in Louis’ scent. Louis places his hand on Harry’s shoulder once again and thank god he does, because he reckons he might just lose any muscle power he has left when Harry takes him in his mouth, placing a warning kiss against the head of his cock before doing so. 

The feel of Harry’s warm, wet mouth around him is like nothing he has ever experienced before. He’s had blowjobs before, sure, more than a few, although none for rather a while and nothing quite like this. He has to concentrate on not coming straight away, as Harry expertly uses nothing but his tongue to take Louis all the way down, driving him wild. He brings his free hand to sit in Harry’s curls, tugging just enough to slow Harry down, when he feels he might come too soon. Harry moans deep in the back of his throat when Louis’ hand tightens on his curls, sending shivers through Louis’ body. Every now and then Harry pulls off wetly, to catch his breath, pressing small kisses to Louis’ inner thigh, which is pink with the effort of keeping himself standing. 

The sight of Harry, kneeling before him, glancing up occasionally through deliciously dark eyelashes, is mesmerising. Louis watches with fascination as Harry swallows him down greedily, and he lets out a small whimper when he notices that Harry is palming himself through his jeans. Harry’s eyelids flutter as he places his other hand on Louis’ bum, pulling him closer. Louis feels his cock hit the back of his throat and Harry moans, pressing harder and faster against his own crotch, hand slipping into his own trousers, as he pulls off with a ragged gasp, trailing spit and pre-come. His eyes open wide momentarily as he looks up and catches Louis’ eye. A devilish grin plays on his lips, which he licks before going in again.

Louis tips his head back once more against the door and tries to keep down the sound of his own strangled gasps. He shuts his eyes tight and when he opens them again he sees sparks, as he rushes towards his orgasm, Harry’s tongue hot on the chase. He can’t get the words out but he desperately clutches at Harry’s shoulder and tugs in his hair, trying to warn him. Harry receives the message just a beat too late, and Louis comes across his mouth, moaning loudly, chest heaving. Harry moans too, tongue out to taste Louis, using one hand to pump him through to the end of his orgasm. 

When it’s over Louis slides down against the door, panting like a dog, his mouth dry and his cock wet. When he finds himself on the floor, level with Harry, he studies him closely. Harry looks blissed out and well and truly fucked. His lips are swollen, his cheeks are flushed, and his chin is sticky with sweat and cum. Louis looks at him in awe, bringing up a finger to swipe across his lips. Harry’s lips are glistening with _his_ cum. The thought of it alone makes Louis’ limp cock pulse. Harry smiles at him, a slow, sloppy grin which spreads across his beautiful face like a charm.

“Was that ok?” he whispers. 

Louis laughs somewhere in the back of his throat. He has no words. 

“Ok? Are you kidding? That was amazing.” He still hasn’t properly recovered his breath. He’s not sure he ever will. 

Harry beams at him.

“I just wish I could return the favour but I think I’ll need a few moments to get my strength back. My legs feel like jelly.” Louis admits, before glancing down where he expects to see the outline of Harry’s cock, pressed hard and aching against his jeans. Instead he sees a dark patch. Harry follows his eye-line with a slight look of amusement on his face.

“What can I say,” he shrugs, totally unabashed, “I enjoyed that.”

Louis wonders if his face is as alight with awe as he feels. Harry shifts on the floor until he also has his back pressed against the door, and then takes Louis’ hand in his own and places it around his shoulder, bringing his head to rest on Louis’ chest just above his heart. Louis registers mildly that he still has his jeans, pulled awkwardly halfway down his thighs, and his shirt shucked up, held in place by the door behind him. He must look a right state but Harry doesn’t seem to care, so he decides he doesn’t either. Harry presses a gentle kiss to his heart, and murmurs against his heaving chest.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Louis says. “Thank you.”

***

They must fall asleep like that, or at least, Louis must, because the next thing he knows he is in his bed and an early morning chorus of bird song is filtering in through the soft-lit curtains. 

He is wearing his PJ bottoms and a fresh t-shirt, which means Harry must have changed him ever so gently so as not to wake him, like a parent changing a baby. He rolls over carefully to find Harry lying flat on his back, curls askew across the pillow, mouth slightly open. His breath is coming out of him in little not-quite-snoring snuffles and the expanse of his bare chest visible above the duvet is ever so slightly moving up and down. Louis reaches out, tentatively, to trace the long line of Harry’s collarbone. He curls his body into his side, and Harry inclines his head towards Louis but doesn’t wake up. 

After a few minutes Harry, murmuring almost imperceptibly in his sleep, reaches up a hand to grab first at thin air, and then at Louis’ own hand on his chest. Louis freezes, worried that maybe Harry in his sleep state is attempting to bat Louis’ hand away. But once he has Louis’ hand firmly in his own, he tugs and rolls over to face the wall, pulling Louis’ arm across him as though it were a blanket. He presses his back into Louis’ front, the curve of his bum fitting perfectly in Louis’ crescent lap, and wriggles slightly, sighing deeply. He clutches Louis’ hand tightly and Louis presses a kiss to the top of his bare spine. 

Now that I’ve got you back, Louis thinks, I’m never letting you go. 

Never.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate how patiently you have all waited for some smut so I hope this is enough to keep you going for now. And I know it's all very fluffy at the moment but bear with me... 
> 
> Kudos and comments are as always greatly appreciated :)


	12. Chapter 12

Spring arrives right on time and Louis finally thinks he understands what Cole Porter was on about. Harry spends almost every waking hour, and every sleeping hour, by Louis’ side. The only times they are apart are when one of them has work and even then they spend their shifts texting ferociously underneath their respective counters, Harry’s hands sticky with sugar.

Since that night after Ed’s gig, things have heated up a notch as well. Not that they are having sex, or have even spoken about it, but they are certainly doing things they weren’t before and Louis is definitely not about to start complaining. He had been slightly worried, only very slightly, that maybe that night after Ed’s gig had been a one time thing, a little pick-me-up so to speak to tide them over until the serious, and still stomach-clenchingly nerve-wracking prospect of them actually having sex presented itself. Harry hadn’t mentioned it the next morning, neither had he made any sort of move to recreate it and Louis had started to doubt himself. However, that night Louis had racked up every bit of courage he had and got down on his knees in front of a wide-eyed Harry, and had taken him down just like Harry had done to him the night before. 

Louis had never particularly liked giving head before. It had always been more of a courtesy than anything else. But the taste of Harry against his tongue, slick velvety skin accented by subtle veins and the salty bitterness of pre-come, is one which Louis quickly learns to adore as an intrinsic part of Harry himself. He learns how to make beautiful, shuddering moans pour out of Harry like music out of a violin and he congratulates himself with a smug, cum-drenched smile the first time he feels Harry’s soft, pink-flushed thighs violently tremble beneath his fingertips. 

***

Harry feels like he is floating in a daydream. Somebody else’s daydream perhaps, certainly not his own, because he is sure that he has never in his life dared to dream of anything as wonderful as Louis. 

Waking up next to Louis every day, being allowed to hold Louis, look at Louis, kiss Louis, laugh with Louis, is so much that sometimes Harry finds himself feeling absolutely overwhelmed with it all. He thinks if anything could bring him to tears, it would be the sight of Louis, first thing in the morning, head resting lightly on his cool white pillow, shadow of stubble on his chin and sleep in his eye, smiling softly at Harry as though Harry deserves him. 

Or perhaps the sight of Louis, as he had looked one evening, lying on his back, clinging to Harry’s neck, mouth slightly parted, head tipped back in a blissful haze, breathing deep breathy moans against Harry’s cheek as Harry had stroked them both to orgasm. Louis had tilted his head up, tongue out to catch Harry’s, and Harry had kissed him as though his life depended on it. Their two bodies pressed together, had felt like one, and Harry had felt himself to be at once lost and found as he had gazed into Louis’ blue eyes and seen himself reflected there. He had been stunned when he had come in time with Louis, both of them crying out in ecstasy, legs, lips, hair so entangled that Harry neither knew nor cared where he ended and Louis began. 

Yet despite all this bliss, despite all the laughter and the soft smiles, despite it all, that old, familiar, morbid darkness seems to be creeping it’s way back into his dreams. The nightmares are so slow and stealthy at first that he hardly notices them when he wakes in the morning. A half-remembered face here, a half-heard cry there. Yet each night more vividly and frequently they come. Memories he thought, or rather hoped, he had long forgotten. They flicker on the periphery of his consciousness like prophecies, threatening at any moment to burst his euphoric bubble. 

These infrequent moments of darkness confuse Harry. He recognises them and yet he doesn’t understand why it is _now_ , when he is happier than he has ever been, truly happy in fact for the first time in his life, that these thoughts decide to haunt him. He wonders if perhaps it is their spoilt protest, their attempt to rise up and rally against this new, infectious thing called happiness which has permeated Harry’s being. 

When Louis questions Harry, tucking his chin onto his shoulder, and whispering _are you ok?_ Harry laughs and shakes away the demons until they are nothing more than monsters under a child’s bed. 

For the first time in Harry’s life, Harry has friends. Multiple friends. Plural, as in more than one. The way in which Liam, Niall, Zayn and Eleanor have welcomed him into their lives makes him feel more at home in 25 Rowntree Avenue than his own flat. He had been so touched when Eleanor had invited him to her boyfriend’s birthday party that the others had made fun of him all day.

“Really Eleanor? Can I really do the dishes?” Zayn had gushed, wide-eyed and gleeful, as Harry had blushed pink under his curls, giddy with the thought that he was now one of them and therefore fair game for mockery. At the party Louis had declared to anybody who would listen that Harry was his boyfriend, and Harry had worn the label so proudly his face had ached at the end of the night with all the grinning he had done. Well, grinning and making out. 

He wonders how long he will get to keep it all. Louis, the friends, the happiness. He doesn’t dare to hope. He takes each day as it comes. With each day of happiness that passes, with each new blossom on the trees outside Louis’ window, he feels the clock ticking within him. Borrowed time. 

***

“Harry…” Louis mumbles into Harry’s chest. His skin is so warm Louis wonders if Harry has some special kind of mechanism in him, which makes him constantly radiate heat. Like the sun. 

Harry is lazily drawing small circles against Louis’ bare shoulders. His eyes are closed and his cheek is resting in the feathery mess of hair on Louis’ head. 

“Hmm?” he replies sleepily. 

When Louis doesn’t say anything again for a while, he shifts slightly.

“Lou? You OK?”

“Yeah, I just… I wanna talk to you about something but I don’t want it to come out wrong.” Louis feels Harry’s cheek leave his head and when he looks up, Harry is frowning down at him, his lips pulled into a darling pout. 

“What is it? You can say.”

Louis sighs, pushing himself up and propping his elbow on the pillow next to Harry’s head. Harry looks beautiful. The last remnants of sleep are caught in the corners of his eyes, there is a red patchwork pattern on his cheek from the fabric of the pillow and he smells so like himself, like the smell of apple shampoo and warm musk which Louis has come to associate with Harry, that Louis just wants to bury his nose into Harry’s curls and breathe him in forever.

“Louis?”

“Sorry,” Louis blinks. He takes a deep breath. “Ok, so here’s the thing. You see the thing is… erm, well… ok, so the thing is that…”

Harry is watching him patiently, expectantly, eyes wide and innocent. 

“… the thing is… that night, on our anniversary, the night when I freaked out and left your place?” – Louis words it as a question although there is no doubt in his mind that Harry remembers it as vividly as he does – “Well, I wanted to talk about that night.”

“Ok.” Harry nods against the pillow, frowning slightly in earnest. He seems almost to be bracing himself although when he speaks his voice is as gentle as ever, like a concerned parent goading information out of a reticent child. “What about it?”

“Well, you see,” Louis moves his hand to settle on Harry’s chest, “I haven’t been completely honest with you about why I freaked out.” The feel of Harry’s steady breathing, rising and falling beneath his palm, calms his nerves a little. 

“Ok?” Harry bites his lip.

“I mean… It _is_ true that the reason I freaked out was because I was scared about having sex, you know, because of what happened to me…” Harry nods, “at least it’s _part_ of the reason. A big part,” he adds hastily when he sees Harry’s face. “I mean… it _was_ the main reason but, well, there was something else.”

“Ok,” Harry says again, ever so quietly. 

“A part of it was that I kind of freaked out about… you. Well, about us.” Louis shakes his head in frustration. All this beating around the bush is tiring. “About our relationship. Because you see, I think, although I didn’t realise it at the time, I was already in love with you and it was scary being in love with a man who I knew so little about.” It’s out. Almost. He takes a deep breath. “ _Know_ so little about.”

Harry is silent for a beat longer than Louis is comfortable with. He seems to be looking somewhere just over Louis’ shoulder and his brow is pulled tight into a frown. 

“Oh,” is all he says quietly before biting on his lip. He looks Louis straight in the eyes for one electric moment before closing them and turning his head to face the ceiling. 

Louis doesn’t say anything. The silence between them seems to stretch on endlessly until finally Harry breaks it. 

“I don’t really know what you want me to say Louis.” Harry opens his eyes. “You _do_ know me. You know me better than anyone else.” He wriggles under the covers and shifts onto his side so that he is face to face with Louis. 

“Maybe,” Louis frowns, unconvinced. “Maybe I do know you better than anyone else, but I’m not sure that’s saying much. You’re so secretive, you’re like a mystery.” 

Now that he’s saying it out loud he realises just how much it has been bothering him. He has been waiting for something to change. Has given Harry so many chances to open up about himself, or at least so he had thought. Yet every day that they have spent together, shared their lives, their routines, their beds, has been another stinging reminder that in one respect Harry is as distant as ever. 

Harry isn’t saying anything, so Louis says feebly, 

“There’s still so much I don’t know.” He tries to keep the hurt out of his voice.

“Like what?” Harry’s voice is a little sharp and rather more defensive than Louis has heard it before. 

“Like… I don’t know. Loads of things. Basic things that most people know about friends they’re not even that close to, let alone boyfriends!” 

“Like…?” Harry’s eyes are narrowed. His voice is like a challenge. 

“Like… Ok, for example, like your family. You never talk about your family. You always dodge my questions or make a joke. I don’t even know if you _have_ any family… I…” Louis trails off, suddenly doubting his decision to bring up this conversation at all. The look on Harry’s face is painful. 

“Look, I don’t talk about family because family just isn’t that important to me… and it’s not a big deal, it’s just the way I am.” 

Louis stares at him in frustration, thoroughly unconvinced. Harry is looking at him almost pleadingly, willing him to believe it, although they both know it isn’t true. 

“Ok, fine,” Harry almost whispers after a beat. “Fine, I admit it. I don’t talk about stuff, like, a lot of stuff from my past, you’re right. But there is a reason for that…”

Louis goes to open his mouth but Harry continues. 

“… I don’t want you to think it’s because I don’t trust you.”

Louis shuts his mouth again. That is exactly what he was about to say and Harry must be able to read it in his expression.

“Really, Louis, it’s not that.” Harry shuffles closer into Louis and wraps his arm around him, placing a quick soothing peck on his nose. He sighs. “I don’t talk about my past because I can’t. I can’t talk about my family because… well, I just can’t. All of it…” Harry shakes his head, clearly grappling with the right words to say, or not say. “All of that stuff… it’s not me.”

Louis feels a weight like stone sinking deep within him. He had hoped, perhaps naively, that when he did finally pluck up the courage to confront Harry, Harry would laugh and say _whoops silly me, did I forget to mention I have a mum and a dad and three sisters and a dog and my best friend at school was called Tom, and my favourite subjects were music and art, and I used to ride around everyday on a red bicycle, and don’t worry yourself Louis, I definitely had a childhood as wonderful as I deserved…_

But this now, the way Harry is staring at him, pleading with wide, guilty eyes, confirms what he already suspected. Harry is purposefully holding back on him. There is a whole part of Harry’s life, a huge part, which Harry is not willing to share with Louis, despite that fact that Louis has bared his soul to Harry. It feels like a punch to the gut. 

“Fine,” is all he can say before rolling onto his back, moving away from Harry’s embrace.

“Louis… please?” 

Harry’s voice is so small and scared that Louis can’t bear to look at him. _He_ made Harry sound like that. God, he really hates himself. And this morning promised to be so lovely. The sky was so blue and the sun so bright until Louis the grey cloud obscured it.

“Ok, Louis, you’re right. You are… you deserve to know more about me and it’s true I have been holding back… fuck…” 

Louis snaps open his eyes and turns to face Harry. Something in the tone of his voice riles him. Harry sounds scared. Really scared. 

“… fuck, ok, look… Louis. I don’t know how to explain. There are some things in life that are better left unsaid. But I love you and I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you…” 

Louis frowns. Something isn’t right. The way Harry is looking at him now is slightly wild. His pupils are flickering frantically, sketching out the thoughts which Louis can see working furiously behind his brow. 

Suddenly Harry sits up, pushing the duvet halfway down the bed, and brings his knees into his chest, hugging them tightly. 

“Fuck,” he says again and buries his face in his knees. 

Louis sits up to join him in utter confusion. 

“Harry…” he begins, but he doesn’t know what he should say. Harry looks up at him like a small child looking up at an adult, fearful, hopeful, unsure whether he is about to be scolded or hugged. 

“Louis… please don’t make me talk. Not yet. Please?” He is shaking his head desperately. “You know _me_ , who I am now, I promise you that. You know me so well it amazes me. I tell you everything about my life as it is now, you always know where I am, you know all my friends,” – I know Ed and Barbara, Louis thinks sadly – “you always know what jokes I’m going to make before I even make them. You know how to make me laugh…” He squeezes his eyes tight shut and buries his head into his knees again. 

Louis stares at him dumbfounded. He didn’t expect this. Of all possible outcomes to this conversation he didn’t expect this. Anger maybe, defensiveness, even Harry brushing it off as a silly joke, but not this. This sad, desperate vulnerability. It’s making Louis’ heart beat painfully in his chest. 

“Ok,” he says softly, wrapping his arms around Harry’s broad shoulders, pressing his lips into the soft curl of hair just in front of his ear. “OK, shhh, it’s OK my love. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry…” Harry shakes his head again, still not daring to look up at Louis. “You’re right. It’s not fair of me to hold out on you but I just, I can’t explain it. I know you would understand if you knew, but…” he shrugs his shoulders helplessly under Louis’ arms. 

For the first time Louis is struck by how easily Harry fits into his embrace. Louis had always felt Harry to be huge in comparison to himself but right now, wrapped up in his arms, hugged into a ball, Harry looks remarkably small. Louis loves him so much, he can’t bear to see him like this, so unsettled and so raw.

“It’s alright. I shouldn’t have asked. I know you trust me.” Louis hopes his voice conveys his conviction. 

“I do trust you.” Harry looks up now, and locks eyes with Louis. “I do.” He nods it with such determination, Louis feels a small ghost of a smile tug at his lips. 

“I know.”

Harry’s shoulders sag with relief and Louis feels just a drop of the tension in them seep away. He presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek and then another to his shoulder and another and another, showering him until almost all of the tension has dissipated. 

“You know what Lou, you were right to ask me…”

“No, shhh,” Louis keeps on kissing him, as though trying to kiss away the whole conversation.

“You were.” Harry sighs and turns to catch Louis’ mouth in a long lingering kiss. When he pulls away he looks determined, and more like himself again. “I want to be able to tell you things. But it’s going to take me some time. There is some stuff…” he pauses in thought for a moment and when he speaks again his voice is sad and apologetic, “… there is some stuff I may never be able to talk about, but I’m going to try…”

Louis opens his mouth and closes it again, unsure of what to say. _Thank you_ seems inadequate and inappropriate. 

“…I _want_ to try.” Harry nods, as much to himself as to Louis. “Maybe…” he hesitates over his own words, and Louis waits quietly, “maybe I can tell you some stuff. But I might not be able to explain that stuff and you might ask me questions that I can’t answer…”

“Hmmm,” Louis frowns in thought. He drops a kiss on Harry’s shoulder and places one of his hands on Harry’s shin, massaging long soothing lines against it. The other he holds firmly around his shoulders. “Well what if, when you _want_ to tell me something, you tell me and I won’t ask any questions? Or you can tell me whether you are ok for me to ask questions or not?”

Harry thinks about it for a moment. Louis watches the little curve of his brow where it meets his eyebrow. Slowly Harry begins to nod. 

“Ok… that could work,” he says quietly. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks at Louis. “Thank you.”

Louis simply smiles and tugs gently on his shoulders, pulling them both down until they are lying on the bed once more. This time it is Harry who rests his head on Louis’ chest, tucked into Louis’ side. His beating heart is inches from Louis’ own and Louis relishes that thought as he lets his fingers tangle gently in Harry’s hair. He smiles sadly as he feels Harry press a kiss to his chest. What happened to Harry? All this time Louis has been so focused on himself, on his trauma, his therapy, his recovery, and yet here is Harry, shouldering secret demons which Louis hardly dares think about. 

They lie like that for a while, slowly breathing together. Outside there is laughter. Inside the house Louis can hear Niall whistling. 

“I want you to know that I really mean it.”

Harry’s words pull Louis out of his lazy stupor, half day-dream, half sleep. How long have they been lying there?

“Mean it?”

“Yes.” Harry nods against Louis’ chest, curling his free hand into Louis’ neck just below his ear. “I mean it. I _will_ tell you stuff. What I can and when I can. I promise.”

Louis nods against Harry’s curls. No questions, he thinks to himself. He can do that. He can make sure Harry trusts him as much as he trusts Harry. 

***

It’s almost a week after Harry made his promise to Louis and Louis silently made one back. Louis is sitting out the back of the Regal with Zayn, having a cigarette, when Harry peaks his head around the corner. 

“Sorry I’m early,” he beams, not looking sorry at all. Louis jumps up in delight and pulls Harry down for a kiss. 

“Eurgh,” Zayn mumbles behind them. 

“Shut up, you love it!” Louis snaps at him before turning back to Harry. “How are you love?”

“Good. We closed the bakery up early today because there were so few customers.”

“Oh?” Louis frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. It’s just Lent.” Harry shrugs. “Happens every year. Everyone gives up chocolate and sweet stuff. But we’ll be super busy next week what with hot cross buns and all.”

“I don’t like hot cross buns,” says Zayn, hauling himself up from the ground, stamping out his cigarette and wiping dust off his arse. 

“What?” Louis is appalled. 

Zayn shrugs. 

“They’ve got weird gross bits in them that nobody knows what they actually are.”

Harry laughs. 

“I know what they are.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows expectantly. Harry bats his eyelashes at him, the epitome of sweetness.

“But I couldn’t possibly tell you. That would be like, betraying the baker code.” Harry taps his nose with his finger. “A baker never reveals his secrets.”

“You’re hopeless,” Zayn mutters, shaking his head and glancing at Louis who is painfully aware of how much his fondness must be showing on his face. “Anyway you two, I am off to serve more popcorn to people who don’t deserve it.”

“Have fun with that.” Louis calls cheerfully as Zayn retreats back into the cinema. 

“Shouldn’t you join him?” Harry asks. 

“Nahhh.” Louis rocks up onto his toes and kisses Harry deeply. Harry kisses back, one hand gripping Louis’ hip, massaging circles into it. Louis eventually breaks off with a small whine. 

“Well, actually yes, I should go in. I have another fifteen minutes of my shift left.”

“Thought so,” Harry smiles. “But just think, you’ll have me on the other side of the counter distracting you the whole time. The minutes will fly by.”

Louis whines again, or rather purrs although he wouldn’t like to think of it as that, and kisses Harry harder. The effort of pulling away is phenomenal. 

Just as they round the corner to go through the front entrance – Nick would have Louis’ head if he caught him letting non-staff in through the side door – they hear a voice.

“Harry?” 

Louis looks up in time to see a man who looks vaguely familiar standing in front of them.

“Bren!” says Harry happily, letting go of Louis’ hand to step forward and shake this man’s, who Louis now recognises as the homeless man from across the street. “How have you been? This is my boyfriend Louis by the way,” he says, indicating Louis who smiles politely. He feels rather uncomfortable confronted with the sight of a man whose pleas for change he has ignored on more than one occasion. 

“Pleasure to meet you mate,” Bren says, extending a hand. Louis takes it, trying not to wince at the fact that it is covered in grime. From somewhere behind Bren a black dog comes bounding up, tongue lolling slightly. 

“Gemma!” Harry cries, getting down on one knee to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “How are you?” The dog licks his face in response.

“Er…” Louis feels as though he is somehow intruding on a strange family reunion of sorts and is distinctly aware that a small queue has formed in front of Zayn, making his break no longer acceptable. “I’m going to have to get back to work I’m afraid, my break is over. Harry?”

Harry looks up from the dog and smiles absent-mindedly at Louis. 

“Are you coming in?” Louis makes sure his tone stays light and breezy, acutely aware that he does not want to look like the needy boyfriend that he in fact is. 

“In a sec. Do you mind if I just catch up with Bren for a few minutes?”

“Of course not,” Louis shakes his head, trying to shake off the tiny part of him which is slightly annoyed that Harry is choosing to spend time with some random homeless man over Louis. But then, he rationalises, Harry does spend rather a lot of time with him already. He practically lives at Louis’ house now, having spent every night there for the past month. 

“Nice to meet you Bren.” He smiles politely before heading inside. He throws Zayn an apologetic glance and slips behind the counter. “How can I help you madam?”

Once the small queue of customers has been dealt with Louis frowns at his phone. He only has five more minutes of his shift left. Harry is still outside, gesturing in a very animated fashion. Bren looks to be laughing. Louis doesn’t realise he is staring at them until Zayn pulls him out of his thoughts. 

“Harry is funny with homeless people.”

“What?” Louis snaps his head around. From the look on Zayn’s face Louis must look rattled.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” Zayn says hastily. “It’s good. He’s nice. He puts the rest of us to shame really.”

“Mmm” says Louis and looks back out of the glass doors. Zayn’s right, it is nice, too nice. Something about it frustrates Louis and he can’t figure out what. 

“I mean, you must have noticed it if I have? Whenever we are out he _always_ gives them money and talks to them and stuff. Most people avoid them like the plague, I swear to god he literally seeks them out. Niall said the other day, outside the Joker’s Tavern, Harry stopped and talked to this homeless woman for over twenty minutes! And he gave her all the cash he had on him.”

Louis looks at Zayn strangely and is suddenly hit with the rather wonderful realisation that Harry is one of them now. It’s not just Louis who knows Harry. They all know Harry. They all have opinions of Harry outside of his relationship with Louis, and they each have their own private jokes with Harry, their niches and their little quirks which, just as with any friendship, slot together in a way which is uniquely theirs. Harry and Zayn have their creativity, their passion for art and their blogs. Harry and Niall have their endless reserves of enthusiasm for life, their ability to find anything and everything funny, and their penchant for terribly unfunny puns. Harry and Liam… well, Harry and Liam have their love for Louis, Louis thinks wistfully. 

“Have I got something on my face?” Zayn says, sending a bemused smirk Louis’ way. “Earth to Louis.”

“Sorry,” Louis shakes his head. This is the first time he has zoned out in a while, and the first time in a _long_ while he has zoned out without his mind going to dark places. He smiles. “Zoned out for a second.”

Just at that moment Harry walks through the doors, smiling at Louis. 

“You finished your shift yet?” he asks eagerly, with all the gusto of a child in the backseat cooing _are we there yet_.

“I am indeed.”

Later that evening, over a simple dinner of pasta in front of the TV, Louis brings up the topic of Bren. Something, although he can’t quite figure what, has kept it nagging at his mind all afternoon. 

“What were you two talking about out there?” He tries to ask it casually, not wanting to seem too nosy. Harry must register the hesitance in his voice because he looks up from his pasta and grins at Louis across the couch.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively and shoves a huge fork of pasta into his mouth. 

“Well, yes. I would.” Louis exclaims, watching Harry in amusement as Harry drips sauce onto his chin. “You’ve got a little something babe,” he adds under his breath, leaning over to wipe it off of Harry who grins his unabashed thanks through a mouthful of food. 

“It probably sounds awful of me,” Louis continues, going back to his pasta, trying to keep it casual, “but I can’t fathom how you manage to talk to a homeless guy for that long. I mean, I can’t imagine you have that much in common?” Louis says it lightly enough but he looks up in time to catch Harry staring at him in a way which makes him feel distinctly uncomfortable. He stutters.

“Sorry, that sounds bad. I didn’t mean it to sound judgemental. It’s none of my business really, I was just wondering…” He is in danger of going into full rambling mode to alleviate the strange tension which has inexplicably occurred. 

Harry’s eyes are dark and narrow. He puts his fork on his plate and stares at the TV for a few moments, almost as though Louis hadn’t asked the question. Just when Louis has resigned himself to the fact that this is one of those many times when he is not going to get a response, Harry turns back to look at him. 

“This is one of those times that we talked about,” Harry says, voice quiet and taut, “where I’m going to need you not to ask me stuff.”

Oh wow. Ok. Louis braces himself, putting his plate of pasta down by the side of the couch. 

“Ok,” he says simply, and nods. 

Harry bites his lip for a moment and looks as though he might change his mind before suddenly, very quickly, he says,

“I used to be homeless.”

That, Louis did not expect. Immediately a million and one questions flood into his mind and he uses everything he has in him not to let them flicker across his face. Instead he nods slightly, hoping that it is encouragement enough for Harry to know that he can go on, without fear of interrogation. 

“Just for like two years. Or not quite even.”

Two years. Two fucking years. Something in Louis’ head starts moving manically. He has the strange sensation of something falling into place, and something else unravelling. 

“It was, er… in Manchester. That’s where I lived before coming here. I was fifteen, sixteen.”

Louis is having a hard time connecting Harry’s words with the reality of them. _His_ Harry, his soft, gentle, perfectly styled and groomed and well-mannered Harry, was one of those people he sees in sleeping bags and on the news. 

Suddenly Louis has a vision of Harry as he must have looked. Young, scared and pale-faced, his curls tucked into a huge hood, huddled in a doorway, begging for money. 

Begging? 

Did Harry beg? 

Oh god, just the thought of it makes Louis feel sick. To think, if he had lived in Manchester, he might have walked past Harry on the street, might have completely blanked him like he and a thousand other Londoners do to a thousand young people every year. Oh Harry. His heart aches across the chasm of couch which sits between them. Louis is suddenly glad of the no questions rule. He wouldn’t even know where to begin and he’s sure if he tried to speak right now he would cry. 

Harry is watching him tentatively. He had spoken the words quite calmly, almost matter-of-fact. Just for two years. _Just_ for two years. As though two years were a reasonably short period of time for a fifteen year old to live on the streets. 

“It’s not as bad as it sounds you know…” Harry stops and shakes his head, frowning at himself. “Well, actually no, it is as bad as it sounds. But there are worse things. That’s how a lot of people end up on the street. Getting away from worse things.”

Fuck. 

Harry doesn’t say anything else. He goes back to staring at the TV and after a few moments he picks up his fork again. After they have both finished their plates of pasta - Louis has to force his down - and turned the channel to some silly action film that Louis really isn’t paying attention to, Harry scoots up the couch to wrap his arm around him. He rests his head on his shoulder, leaning his whole weight against him and occasionally turning just enough to leave gentle kisses at the base of Louis’ neck. It is after one of those kisses that Louis just about makes out a soft whisper against his skin, _thank you_.

_Fuck_ , Louis thinks to himself, _fuck, fuck, fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please leave kudos if so! Thank you so much to everyone so far who has left me comments and sent me messages of encouragement. You are all so awesome and wonderful I cannot even begin :) until next time...


	13. Chapter 13

Over the next few weeks Harry drops a handful more mini-bombshells, each cautiously casual, each painful. Harry hasn’t cried since he was sixteen… Harry’s mother died when he was very young. His only memory of her is her smell. And fruit. Harry doesn’t know why but fruit always reminds him of his mother… Harry spent over a year living in London without any friends. Not one single friend, until he met Ed…

“Well, apart from the old ladies at the bakery,” he jokes before kissing Louis on the forehead and jumping up from his mattress. He grabs a towel from the floor, before padding the two meters across his flat to the tiny bathroom, leaving Louis to stare after him. 

All of these little titbits Louis clings to, like precious pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. The fact that each new piece seems only to suggest a final picture far more complex than it at first appeared to be, only makes Louis more determined to accumulate every last one. He desperately wishes Harry would let him in completely, but he knows that his selfish desire to satisfy his own curiosity pales in comparison with his desire to make sure that Harry trusts him. And Harry does seem to trust him, at least a little. 

These confessions happen mostly, Louis begins to notice, at times when Harry is relaxed, right after a lazy evening in front of the TV, or over a glass of wine, or after a particularly luxurious blowjob, at which, Louis flatters himself, he is getting pretty good. 

“It’s like, I’m so glad that he’s telling me some stuff but at the same time, it makes it even more frustrating to think what he’s _not_ telling me, you know?” he says, one sunny Saturday afternoon in Dr Corden’s office. 

“Yes, I can see how that would be frustrating,” Dr Corden says. Louis is well aware that he has spouted variations on this theme non-stop for the last couple of sessions, so he appreciates Dr Corden’s patience. 

“I just wish there was something I could do to help him?” he glares into his lap, annoyed at his own uselessness. 

“Help him with what?” 

“I… don’t know.” 

The question catches Louis unawares. Help. Surely that’s what people with difficult pasts need? Louis certainly did. 

“Maybe he doesn’t need your help,” Dr Corden continues. “Or maybe he doesn’t need it yet. From everything you say about him he sounds like a very together young man.”

“He is,” Louis agrees after a pause. But why can’t he cry, he thinks to himself.

“Maybe you’re overthinking this whole thing. The aim of getting him to tell you about himself is to build trust, am I right?”

“You are,” Louis says. 

“So maybe you should return the favour? When he tells you something you tell him something in return.”

“But,” Louis begins, “I already told him about me.”

“You’ve told him everything there is to know about you?”

“No, I mean, I told him about what happened to me… being raped,” he adds in confusion when Dr Corden simply blinks at him.

“So that’s one thing about you. What about the rest?”

Louis wonders when it was that Dr Corden became such a smarmy, always-correct bastard. He also wonders what it would be like if Dr Corden were someone he had met in different circumstances. He thinks maybe they would get on really rather well. They might even be friends. 

At the end of their session Louis suddenly remembers that he has something to ask.

“Can we possibly change our session time next week? It’s just that Niall has persuaded me to go back to football with him. I’m probably horrendously out of shape but still…” he shrugs and looks expectantly at Dr Corden, who is smiling brightly at him. 

“You’re going back to football? Louis, that’s fantastic.” 

“Yeah,” Louis smiles shyly. 

It had been decided last week. Louis had gone with Harry, Liam and Zayn to watch Niall play. After the game, when he had been dragged, as he knew he would be, to the pub to console the team on their crushing defeat against Loughborough, Niall had rallied several members of the team into convincing Louis that if _he_ had been there they might have won. Louis knows they were only saying it to be nice, but still, looking at all their hopeful faces, he couldn’t find any good reason not to agree. He had found himself immediately swamped under a sea of sweaty, cheering footballers, a situation which he hadn’t minded half as much as he had pretended to. Best of all, he had looked up to see a proud smile drawn across Harry’s face and had come twice that night, under Harry’s reverent tongue. 

“Well, that’s wonderful Louis,” Dr Corden says, reaching for his diary. “Let me see, next week…” he flicks through the pages, “Thursday… Friday… Saturday, ah yes, that’s the twenty-fifth. I can do nine in the morning before football?” Louis grimaces. Dr Corden laughs. “Fair enough, what about Sunday, the twenty-sixth. I can do eleven?”

The twenty-sixth. It rings in his ears a second before he understands it. The twenty-sixth. The twenty-sixth of April. It was a Saturday last year. 

“… or Monday… late afternoon…” Dr Corden’s lips are moving but Louis doesn’t register his words. 

On Sunday it will be exactly one year since it happened. One year since everything changed. One year since Louis became the fucked-up, screwed-up, miserable mess that he is now. 

He thinks the thoughts, but they don’t stick like they once did. He doesn’t feel the dark curtain of depression drawing across himself like he used to. It has been a horrendous year in so many ways. There have been times when it has been almost unbearable, when Louis hasn’t been sure he could see it through. 

But it’s also been the best year of his life. After all, it’s the year he met Harry. No poxy anniversary can take that away from him. 

***

When the twenty-sixth roles around Louis doesn’t feel quite so defiant. His legs are aching something dreadful after his football session, which was equal parts exhilarating and depressing. Exhilarating because Louis had forgotten just how much he loved the game, the wild burst of energy, followed by the focus, as he chased the ball up the pitch and the wind whipped through his hair. Depressing because he was really rather out of shape, which, although it was to be expected, had still been a bit of a blow to his ego. 

He opens his eyes a crack and groans against the bright sunlight peeping through his window. A rustle from the other side of the room catches his attention and he rolls over to find Harry’s side of the bed is empty, although still warm with his smell. He curls into it and shuts his eyes again. 

“Hey sleepy head,” comes Harry’s soft voice against his ear. 

He opens his eyes and looks up to see a fully dressed Harry leaning over him, smiling fondly. 

“Barbara called. Margaret’s dog is sick. I’m going to cover her for a couple of hours while she takes him to the vet.”

“Huh,” Louis grumbles into the pillow, “how many pets does this woman have?” His voice is gruff and coarse with disuse. 

“I think just the one actually, since the cat died.”

“Oh.” He yawns widely and reaches up to curl his hand in Harry’s hair, dragging him down until his face is nuzzled into his neck. “I want you to stay here,” he whines. 

“I want to stay too.” Harry places a warm, wet kiss on Louis’ neck and breathes in deeply before pulling away again. “But I promised Barbara I’d go. Otherwise she’ll be all alone.”

“But now I’m going to be all alone.” Louis pouts up at him, doing his best to look endearing but most likely looking needy and in need of a shower. Harry laughs. 

“You are so cute.”

“I am cute,” Louis nods. “All the more reason you should stay here.” 

Louis hasn’t mentioned what day it is to Harry. He knows if he did he would stay in a heartbeat, but he doesn’t want to worry him. Especially since he has noticed that Harry has been having some fairly sleepless nights recently. The shadows under his eyes are noticeably darker than they were. 

“I’ll be back around lunchtime. I promise.” Harry leans down once more to kiss the pout off of Louis’ face before going and grabbing his phone and wallet from the desk. Louis feels a warm glow of adoration spread through his chest when he notices that Harry is wearing Louis’ grey t-shirt. Harry is just about to reach up and tie his hair in a ponytail, the “man-bun” as Zayn has taken to calling it, when suddenly Louis gets an overwhelming urge to keep Harry with him just a few seconds longer. 

“Hey,” he says, “can I do your hair for you?” 

Harry turns around, eyebrows raised slightly, hands paused in mid-air. 

“You want to do my man-bun?”

“Uh huh.” Louis nods and sits up in bed, making grabby motions with his fingers. Eloquence has never been his strong suit, especially not in the morning. 

“OK.” Harry grins and comes to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning slightly against Louis’ duvet clad legs. He hands Louis the little black hair tie and then faces away expectantly.

Louis leans in just enough to rest his chin on Harry’s shoulder and presses a slow, gentle kiss there. He takes a moment just to be, and feels Harry do the same. The stillness between them is magical. It’s as though, in these tiny moments, with these tiny kisses, they can momentarily stop time. 

Then Louis slowly brings his hands up to run his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry must have showered this morning, as his hair is still slightly cold, not quite dry, to the touch and is overflowing with the sweet scent of his apple shampoo and Louis’ coconut conditioner. Harry leans his head back, letting it rest heavy against Louis and he breathes out a long contented sigh. Louis’ fingers pull through his thick cascades of hair, catching around curls. He presses his nose into the back of Harry’s head and whispers _I love you_ so quietly that he doesn’t think Harry will hear. 

“I love you too,” Harry whispers back. 

Louis smiles and pulls away, deftly twisting Harry’s hair into the hair-tie, grateful for years of experience with little sisters. A few loose wisps curl at the nape of Harry’s neck, catching Louis’ eye, and he stares, fascinated for a second before Harry twists around and catches him in a deep kiss, placing one hand on the other side of Louis’ legs to steady himself. 

“I’ll text you when I get there.”

“And the whole morning until you get back?” 

“And the whole morning until I get back.” Harry smiles reassuringly and bumps his nose against Louis’ before getting up from the bed, which suddenly feels empty without his weight. 

Louis feels like a child watching his mother have to leave for work even though he is off school sick. Harry casts him one last glance at the doorway and blows a kiss his way before shutting the door gently behind him. Louis snuggles back down into the covers on Harry’s side of the bed and shuts his eyes again, hoping to go back to sleep. 

He wonders whether Harry’s recent tiredness has something to do with the confessions, which is how Louis has started referring to them in his head. He is struck, not for the first time, by the niggling thought that this is not really the right word for them. Harry has nothing to confess, he has done nothing wrong, and yet each time he tells Louis something new he has this apprehensive look in his eye like a sinner confessing to a priest. 

Perhaps the strain of having to share is keeping Harry up at night. Louis feels guilty now every time Harry says something new. But it’s not as though he ever asks Harry. Not since that first time. It’s Harry who keeps offering things up and Louis can’t exactly tell him to stop. 

Louis’ phone pulls him out of his non-sleep, blinking brightly on his bedside cabinet. He reaches for it. 

_I miss you already! ☹ xxx_

He grins at it just as a second text comes through. 

_I gave five pounds to a busker on the tube because he was singing a song which made me think of you. Zayn would have been disgusted! xx_

_Haha, which one? Xx_

_The one by Bruno Mars that you like so much. If you ever find yourself lost in the middle of the sea… xx_

_Count On Me! Zayn would have been disgusted. You’re right. :p xx_

_I’LL SAIL THE WORRRRRRLD, TO FIND YOUUU XXXX_

Louis shakes his head and laughs out loud. He can feel his eyes doing the crinkly thing that Harry seems to love so much and he marvels at how quickly the day is turning out to be a million times better then he expected. 

Eventually, at the ripe old time of eleven thirty, he drags himself out from the warmth of his covers and heads to the kitchen. He is met with the sight of a very shirtless Liam sat up on the counter, half obscured by a very messy-quiffed Zayn, whose lips are trailing kisses along Liam’s jaw. Their hands are places that they most certainly shouldn’t be in any communal living area and Louis steps into the kitchen, clearing his throat pointedly. 

“This is what bedrooms are for, I hope you realise.” He tries to sound as stern as he possibly can. Liam and Zayn don’t need to know that he actually finds them totally adorable, and maybe also the tiniest bit hot. 

“Sorry,” Liam mumbles, blushing furiously before burying his face in Zayn’s neck, who has made absolutely no move to step away from his position between Liam’s thighs. 

“Not sorry,” he says, grinning wickedly at Louis. 

“You’re blocking the toaster.” Louis pushes past them, and makes a show of trying to reach the toaster even though he actually plans on eating cereal. 

Just then Niall shuffles in, bleary-eyed and yawning. He takes a few steps into the room before stopping and peering at them, as though he has only just noticed their presence. Considering how tiny the kitchen is, this is quite some feat. 

“What are you all doing up so early?” he blinks, before trying to stifle another yawn. 

“It’s eleven thirty Niall,” Liam says, sounding like the disapproving parent he so clearly is, and wrapping his arms around Zayn’s chest who has now turned to lean against him and watch Niall with barely concealed amusement. 

“Oh,” Niall shrugs. He grabs a box of cornflakes from the cupboard and begins shovelling them into his mouth. “I fort i’ wa’ earlier ‘dan ‘at,” he says around a handful of cornflakes. 

“Would you like a bowl by an chance Niall?” says Louis.

“Or some milk maybe?” Liam offers, frowning at Niall in something between disgust and awe. 

“No, m’good,” Niall shrugs again and scoffs another handful.

Liam shakes his head and turns to Louis. 

“Where’s Harry?”

“He’s at work.” Louis tries and fails not to pout like an insolent child. “He’s only doing a couple of hours though so he’ll be back for lunch.”

“You know what?” Zayn interjects abruptly. “We should do something today?”

“What do you mean?” Louis asks just as Liam says, “like what babe?”

“It’s a lovely sunny day, look at it. First day of the year which actually properly looks like summer and I think we should make the most of it. You’re not going to the library today” – he twists to look at Liam and places his hand on his thigh – “neither are you. Not that you do that much anyway” – he looks fondly at Niall – “and we don’t have work today and Harry will be back soon. I suggest a picnic. In the park.” He looks around expectantly.

“I didn’t take you for the picnic type Malik. More the brooding in your room and spray painting your walls type.”

“I am a complex, multi-faceted man, Tomlinson. I can be both.”

They all agree that it is a wonderful idea and Louis finds that he means it. It certainly beats his plan of moping around in bed, waiting for Harry to get home just so that he can be clingy and get Harry to mope around in bed with him. And maybe this will do Harry some good. Picnics are precisely the sort of wholesome, family activity which make Harry’s eyes light up like a kid at Christmas. 

As Louis sips his tea and listens to Niall, Liam and Zayn plan what food, and more importantly, what alcohol to pack for this picnic, which it has been decided, is going to be a picnic of epic proportions, Louis pulls his phone out of his pocket. He has a text from Harry. 

_A lady came in and I think she was flirting with me. She said she liked my bun and when I told her my boyfriend did it for me she looked disappointed! Xx_

_Tell her that’s not the only thing your boyfriend does for you… ;) xx_

_Lewis, I am shocked! Shocked and appalled. Xx_

_Yes, the two kisses on the end of that text really convey how appalled you are! :p Btw, picnic in the park with the boys. Text Ed? And anyone else you want to. Xx_

“If that’s Harry, ask him to see if he can bring some stuff from the bakery,” Liam suggests. 

“Of course that’s Harry,” Niall smirks, “he’s doing his Harry smile.”

“I am not,” Louis says indignantly, although considering he can feel his grin even as he says it, he figures he can’t blame the boys for looking unconvinced. 

_Yaaayyyyy!!!! LOVE PICNICS!! Xxxxxx_

Louis grins even wider, ignoring the gagging noises of his so-called friends and is about to type out Liam’s suggestion when a second text comes through. 

_P.s. I’ll see what I can nab from the bakery. I think we have a whole tray of broken cookies out back. Xx_

_Sounds perfect! xx_  

***

Harry leaves the bakery in an eager rush, arms laden with brown bags full of Cornish pasties, fresh baguettes and sticky buns. Barbara had refused to hear it when Harry had tried to pay for it all out of his wages, insisting instead that it was all stuff which was too stale to sell. Harry knew for a fact that this wasn’t true and had thanked her profusely all the way out the door.

He stops by his flat quickly to pick up his camera, which he swings around his neck. He makes the executive decision to leave his jacket behind as he got sweaty even on the walk from the bakery to his house, the sun is that wonderfully bright today. If it gets cold later he can just cuddle Louis, he thinks happily, digging out his sunglasses and dusting them off. 

He hums Bruno Mars under his breath, for the whole time he is on the tube, which is packed with everyone else, who has clearly had the same idea as his friends to make the most of the sun. 

He watches wistfully as two little brothers, in matching shorts and t-shirts lean their heads close to stare at a video game. They are resting against their mother, who is keeping them standing, grounding them against the sway of the train, and the younger boy is offering up excited encouragement to his older brother who is in control of the game. At one point the older boy nuzzles his cheek into his little brothers hair and Harry thinks his heart might break. He catches the eye of their mother, who looks tired and proud all at once, and in that moment Harry loves her. What a wonderful woman. What wonderfully, beautifully loved children. He wonders if his mother might have looked like that too had she lived. If she might have been tired and proud. If other people on train’s might have looked at her and seen how much she loved him. 

When he reaches the entrance of the park he calls Louis, balancing the brown paper bags precariously between one arm and his raised thigh. Louis informs him that they are on the other side of the hill, by the huge oak at the edge of the football field. Harry hears them before he sees them. Niall has brought his guitar.

“Harry!” Louis almost yells, when he sees him, rushing up to kiss him square on the mouth. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Harry grins down at him, marvelling at the way the sunlight is catching Louis’ eyes, making them a deeper blue than Harry has ever seen before. 

“What food did you bring?” Niall interrupts his own guitar playing to eye-up Harry’s bags eagerly, as Harry sets them down on the huge red rug which he’s sure will have been Liam’s idea. 

“Just some stuff from the bakery.”

“I think together we have enough to feed a small army,” Liam indicates their own pile of Tesco bags, overflowing with crisps and dips and strawberries and beer. 

“Or just about enough to feed Niall,” Harry grins before pulling each of the boys into a hug. 

They settle down on the rug, Harry’s long limbs splayed out in front of him, with Louis’s head resting on his thigh, Liam leaning against Zayn’s chest and Niall stretched out on his side. They marvel at how hot the day is, they talk about Niall and Louis’ football training the day before, and Harry beams with pride when Niall sings Louis’ praises, making Louis squirm. Harry is only a little disappointed that he can’t see the blush he knows will be on Louis’ cheeks. He plays absent-mindedly with Louis’ soft, fluffy hair as Zayn tells them all about a new comic-book idea he is working on for his blog. They all tease him mercilessly when Louis points out that the super-hero protagonist as Zayn has described him to them, has rather a lot in common with a certain brown-haired, puppy-dog-eyed someone they all know. 

Ed arrives with his guitar when the sun is at it’s peak, and Harry leans back on his elbows to listen, singing along softly as he and Niall run through a whole back catalogue of old Oasis songs. 

“You have a gorgeous voice,” Louis says quietly, pulling himself up until they are shoulder to shoulder. Harry turns his head to meet Louis’ gaze, which is warm and smiling. 

“Nah, I don’t.” 

“You do you know?” Ed pipes up. Clearly their conversation wasn’t as private as Harry had thought. He glances back to Louis who is nodding his agreement. 

“I haven’t heard you sing!” Liam says almost indignantly from across the blanket. 

“I promise you’re not missing out on all that much.”

“Don’t listen to him Li, he’s brilliant.” Louis looks fierce, and Harry wants to kiss him so desperately it hurts. Suddenly he realises he can, and he leans across to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Louis giggles, actually honest to god giggles and blushes, and the others make _woop woop_ and _weyhey_ type sounds. 

“You know Louis can sing as well right?” Liam says to Harry, looking suddenly sincere. 

“No?” Harry says, staring at Louis. He realises all of a sudden that he has never heard Louis sing, not even in the shower, and that is not OK. 

Louis is glaring at Liam warningly, and Liam is clearly choosing to ignore him. 

“Yeah, me and him used to sing all the time. We used to go round each other’s houses after school and prepare audition pieces. We always said we were going to audition for X Factor. Do you remember that Louis?”

Everyone is staring at Louis with various degrees of amusement and amazement on their faces. Harry just looks at him in awe. Why doesn’t Louis tell him this stuff? Does he think Harry will laugh at him? The idea of young Louis and young Liam in their bedrooms singing pop songs and planning to go on the X Factor, makes Harry inexplicably happy. 

Louis frowns and coughs, mumbling something under his breath. 

“What was that?” Zayn asks pointedly. Liam is biting back a smile.

“I said you are so dead… Big Payno.” Louis sounds threatening but he has a mischievous glint in his eye. His shoulder, pressed against Harry’s is soft and warm and moves slightly when he speaks. 

“You didn’t.” Liam’s voice is low.

“Oh I did.” Louis chides, a small grin fighting to make its way onto his lips. 

“What? What did he do?” says Niall, looking eagerly between them like a particularly enthusiastic spectator at Wimbledon. 

“Big Payno,” Liam seems to flinch as Louis says the words, “was what Liam decided he wanted to be called. A stage name if you will.”

Zayn guffaws loudly and Harry throws his head back to let out a barking laugh. Ed looks quite frankly sickened and Niall looks as though he doesn’t understand what the problem is. 

“I like it,” he shrugs, “it’s cool. Like a DJ name.” 

“Niall likes it,” Louis says, a full blown shit-eating grin on his face now. Liam is staring daggers at him. 

“Big Payno? Really?” Ed shakes his head, as though even saying the name is painful. 

“Look, it was a long time ago. I was thirteen for Christ’s sake.” Liam’s eyes are still trained on Louis and Louis’ on Liam and the frisson of something between them almost makes Harry jealous. It’s the shared experience of childhood perhaps. The memory of each other at a time before now. 

“Sixteen.” 

“That’s it you little shit.” Liam scrambles up from Zayn’s lap and Louis squeaks, jumping up himself and running away. Liam leaps over the still half-full bags of food and races after him. The other boys all collapse with laughter, watching Louis and Liam zig-zag across the sprawling grass, Louis’ taunting shrieks carrying back to them, ringing clear in the warm, still air. 

***

By late afternoon quite a little crowd has gathered. Eleanor and Max have arrived with some friends from their course, who Liam also seems to know. Plus Niall has invited Greg and some of the other football guys, who thankfully bring a ball, an essential item which Niall and Louis somehow managed to forget. Zayn even invites Hattie and Andrew from work, and Louis after some back-and-forthing, texts Nick, who arrives around five with a crate full of beer. To his absolute horror Nick and Harry hit if off like a house on fire and at one point Louis actually finds himself practically crawling into Harry’s lap to interrupt a conversation of theirs. 

Harry takes loads of photos of everyone, and even allows Niall to take some of him, although Louis can’t help but melt at the worry on Harry’s brow as he watches Niall casually waving the camera around, pointing it in people’s faces with absolutely no regard for the fact that it is by far the most expensive thing Harry owns. At one point Louis takes it upon himself to lightly point out as much to Niall, who sends Harry an apologetic look and is much more careful with it after that. 

“Did I mention that I love you?” Harry whispers, moments later, as Louis comes back down to sit by his side. The click of the camera goes off somewhere to the right of them. 

“You did mention it but I’m not adverse to hearing it again.” 

“I love you.” Harry leans in so close that his lips brush against Louis’ ear. Another click.

“Oh for goodness sake Niall!”

As the sun sinks and blurs into an orange glow, spilling across the sky, Louis finds himself chasing Harry up the football field. He performs potentially the most gentle tackle ever, and is so distracted by the gorgeous frown of concentration on Harry’s brow that he actually somehow fails to take possession of the ball, much to the rather tipsy dismay of Ed and Liam and Max, who he presumes must be his current teammates. They’ve swapped teams so many times in the past hour that he’s losing track. 

And anyway, he’s far less focused on scoring goals than he is on marvelling at how someone as seemingly graceful and elegant as Harry manages to be such an absolute colt when it comes to football. He marvels even more at how little Harry seems to care, how widely he grins whenever he stumbles and loses possession of the ball, and how enthusiastically he chases after it again, fresh determination clear on his face, despite the fact that he is by far the least skilled footballer to have ever played out of choice. Louis reckons that says a lot about the kind of person that Harry is and he finds himself beaming with pride, as he watches Harry fail spectacularly at an attempt to tackle Niall, who yells in exasperation at the fact that they are on the same team. Harry shrugs with a little “oops” and when he catches Louis’ eye, he does a cute sort of pirouette, the kind of cute which blindsides Louis and leaves his head spinning, before running up the field. He has let his hair loose and the wind has whipped it into a wild frenzy of curls. 

It feels as though there is nothing in the world apart from this little oasis in a little park in south London. Every body sprawled on the red blanket over by the tree, every face tearing up the field towards Louis, every note emulating from Zayn’s portable speaker is happy. Everywhere there is laughter. Everything is beautiful.

Louis thinks if there was just one day he could choose to live and relive, over and over again, it would be this one. The twenty-sixth of April. How strange the universe is. 

“GOOOAAAALLLLL!” Niall screams, running down the pitch to high five his teammates. 

“Louis!” Ed raises his hands in mock despair, “I thought you were supposed to be good at football.” His eyes hold a glint of amusement, as he bends over to place his hands on his knees and catch his breath.

He indicates behind Louis who turns to see the ball resting proudly in between the water bottle and sweatshirt, which they are using as goal posts. Oh that’s right, Louis is meant to be in goal. Just behind Ed he can see a panting Liam, walking up the pitch, hands on hips, shaking his head fondly.

“Sorry,” he holds out his palms to them in surrender and shrugs, “must have zoned out.” He can’t hide his grin and he realises he doesn’t want to.

***

That night Harry is unusually quiet. Louis had noticed it first coming back from the toilets of the pub they had all crowded into after the park had closed for the night. 

Harry had looked sickly pale, almost green, and he had hardly responded to Louis when he had stroked his thigh under the table. For the rest of the night he took a beat too long to laugh at everyone’s jokes and his eyes kept flickering across the pub, distracted, silent, fearful. 

When they had got back to Louis’ bedroom, they had kissed for a few minutes lying tangled on his bed, but something in Harry’s delicate kisses, in the drooping curve of his lashes and the slight fidget of his thigh had meant that they soon stopped.

Now Harry is lying with his back to Louis, his long curls resting against the pillow, his shoulders hunched forward, pulling away from Louis’ embrace. They have been lying here for what feels like hours but Louis can tell Harry isn’t asleep either. 

Louis thinks back over the day’s events. It has been so wonderful, almost perfect, and now this, a crushing reminder that it isn’t perfect, nothing is perfect. Harry isn’t ok. Louis stares at the nape of Harry’s neck, the cool stillness of his pale skin and the tense muscles in his shoulder. He wonders how it can be that every day that he feels more like himself, more bold and bright and sharp at the edges, Harry seems to fade just a little more. Louis imagines a lifeline running between them, draining Harry to fuel Louis. Harry would let that happen as well, Louis thinks miserably, reaching out to gently brush the locks from Harry’s neck. He feels the muscles in Harry’s neck tense at his touch. 

Fuck the no-questions rule. 

“Harry, are you alright?” 

Louis’ question is unconvincing and falls flat somewhere between the sheets. There is no reply, but Harry curls his body further so that Louis can count the bones in his spine. 

“Harry… what happened this evening? You were so happy…” Louis’ voice wavers in the quiet dark surrounding them. “Won’t you just tell me what’s wrong?” 

After several moments have passed, in which Louis opens and closes his mouth more than once, unsure whether to push it, Harry turns slightly, craning his neck against the pillow. Through the gloom Harry looks paper-grey and frail. He shakes his beautiful head and Louis’ heart breaks a little. 

“You can’t tell me?” he whispers, trying not to sound hurt. 

Harry shakes his head again, but only after a beat of hesitation which lets Louis know he shouldn’t give up just yet. 

“Can you tell me partly?” Louis shifts slightly so that they are the tiniest bit closer. He might just be imagining it, or maybe Harry inclines his head slightly closer to Louis’, but he doesn’t answer. “Or, just a clue? You could just give me a clue, like one word? I hate seeing you like this…”

At that Harry turns properly so that he is facing Louis. Their thighs brush against each other, and Harry’s hand settles in the dip where Louis’ neck meets his shoulder. He buries his face into Louis’ chest and Louis holds him, feeling the steady pulse of one of their hearts, he isn’t sure which. 

“I’m sorry.” Harry’s voice is small and tired. Louis waits, trying to keep his breath even. “It’s just…” Harry shrugs helplessly beneath him “…ghosts.”

Louis frowns into the dark and holds Harry tight to him. 

“Ghosts?” he asks when Harry doesn’t elaborate. 

“Ghosts.” Harry nods against his chest. He doesn’t say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for how slow this was to update, especially as it is a bit of a filler chapter really. Next chapter is where things start to go down, so hold on tight :) thanks for reading as always and for the kudos and comments. You guys really are lovely and awesome and I wouldn't have kept up work on this if not for you! Until next week...


	14. Chapter 14

When Harry suggests a proper restaurant date to mark the three month anniversary of the day they said _I love you_ , Louis is cautiously optimistic that it will at least be better than the last time they went on an anniversary dinner. He’s still nervous as hell though. 

“I don’t get why you’re nervous, you practically live with the guy,” Eleanor points out, unhelpfully, as she watches Louis despair over his hair in the living room mirror. 

“Because… Liam can you explain it to her please?” Louis angrily swipes his fringe to the left and decides that he definitely needs a haircut. 

“He’s nervous,” Liam lifts his head obligingly, “because this is the first time they have been on a proper date since the _last_ time they went on a proper date which was the time that Louis was a bit of an idiot and ended up walking out on Harry.” His tone is fond rather than accusatory.

“I see,” says Eleanor.

“The thing is,” Liam continues, “Louis is the sort of person who thinks that he somehow has something to make up for, and so he is putting an awful lot of pressure on himself to make this date incredible. What he fails to realise is that he could literally show up in a used bin bag and Harry would still stare at him as though he were the answer to every mystery in the universe.”

Louis scowls.

“I asked you to explain it to her, not to psychoanalyse me.” He pushes his hair back to the right before letting out a frustrated puff of air and giving up. 

Liam gets up and comes to stand behind him, wrapping his muscular arms around Louis’ shoulders, grounding him. They look at each other for a second in the mirror and Liam smiles reassuringly. 

“Harry loves you Louis, you don’t need to prove anything. Just enjoy yourself.” He places a kiss on Louis’ cheek just as Zayn and Niall wander in from the kitchen. 

“Oi,” Zayn says. Louis smirks at the slight blush on Liam’s cheek, as he ducks his head to kiss Louis one more time before breaking apart and leaping onto the sofa, practically into Zayn’s lap, knocking them both backwards and into a heap of giggles. 

“You jealous?” Liam teases softly. 

“No,” Zayn pouts. 

“Yes” the others cough simultaneously. 

Liam is right. Louis knows he is being stupid. He’s just so determined to make this a date that Harry deserves and seeing as Harry pretty much deserves the world, it’s no mean feat. 

He is taking them to a super fancy restaurant in Fulham, the sort of restaurant whose prices should, by rights, be illegal, and they have agreed that they will get ready in their respective homes to make it feel more like a proper date. Seeing as the restaurant is much nearer to Louis’ house, Harry is picking Louis up at seven. 

“So you’re not coming to Ed’s gig tonight I presume?” Zayn mumbles from somewhere behind Liam who is sitting on his lap despite being by far the heftier of the two of them. 

“We will for a bit.”

This is the only potentially annoying factor in what could otherwise be a perfectly romantic just-for-two night. Ed’s gig is a pretty big deal, by far the biggest crowd he has played to, and he invited everyone to it weeks ago so there is no way Harry and Louis can miss it. Not that they would want to miss it even if they could. Louis has back-to-back shifts at the Regal every other night this week and, as Harry pointed out, it wouldn’t be an anniversary date if it weren’t on their actual anniversary. 

So they have decided dinner first, then stop by at the venue for a few drinks and a few songs, and then to bed. The bed part is especially important in Louis’ mind. His stomach tingles at the thought. He just wants to make Harry feel as special as Harry makes him feel. It hasn’t escaped Louis’ notice that Harry’s confessions have somewhat dried up of late and although Harry seems to be sleeping better there is still the occasional glint of something in his eye that makes Louis feel as though they are a million miles apart. True to his word Louis hasn’t asked any questions and Harry seems to be grateful for that. 

At seven on the dot the doorbell rings. Louis’ stomach is clenching uncomfortably and he has to remind himself that this is Harry, _his_ Harry, who loves him. He casts one last forlorn look into the mirror and adjusts his stiff collar. The shirt and blazer combo had seemed like a good idea half an hour ago but now Louis thinks he just looks like a twat. Oh well, too late to do anything about it now. He quickly glances into his room, checking that everything looks exactly as it is supposed to, and then he rushes down the stairs and opens the door. A beat later his breath catches in his throat as he sees Harry standing before him. 

Harry is dressed in an unfairly sheer black shirt, unbuttoned indecently low, with the tips of his bird tattoo wings peaking out. His collarless black jacket has a gold trim because, of course it does, and his black trousers fit him in such a way that Louis isn’t sure he is going to be able to string together actual sentences. Harry’s hair is falling softly around his face in loose curls and his dimples are very visible either side of his mile-wide smile. The softest hint of a warm evening breeze carries the sweet smell of his apple shampoo across the doorstep. Apple mixed with... Louis has to blink twice before he realises that Harry is holding roses.

***

Louis looks stunning. Harry wishes he were a poet, then maybe he would have even a hope of beginning to describe just how gorgeous Louis is. He is in a midnight blue shirt and matching jacket, which accents the bright, electric blue of his eyes, and the way his collar grazes his neck, just below his adam’s apple, has Harry licking his lips. His hair is artfully swept to one side and his cheekbones, under the bright light of the hallway, look as though they could cut glass. If Harry maybe wants to suck bruises into them a little bit, well, he’s only human. 

“Hi” Louis says quietly, staring at Harry with wide eyes and a smile. His smile. Harry thinks his smile could inspire symphonies. 

“I love you,” Harry says before he has the chance to think better of it. Louis laughs brightly as Harry stutters and shakes his head, “I mean… er… hi?”

Before Harry knows what is happening, Louis has stepped forward and dragged Harry down into a bruising kiss. He feels Louis’ tongue run across the seam of his lips and he opens up eagerly, pulling Louis close, sinking into the kiss and feeling giddy with it. A moment later Louis pulls away just enough to mutter against Harry’s lips.

“You brought me flowers?” 

Louis’ eyes are framed by little crinkles and his lips are sinfully wet from their kiss. It takes Harry a second to register what Louis has said and he looks down almost in surprise. Right, roses, a proper date. 

He hands over the roses, which are now a little crushed, and the expression on Louis’ face is one Harry could happily look at for the rest of his life. 

***

They order dessert from a delightfully flamboyant waiter who flirts outrageously with both of them. 

“He’s been eyeing you up all evening,” Harry mutters conspiratorially as the waiter whips away their menus and moves to his next table. 

“No he hasn’t,” Louis blushes and takes a sip of his wine. His lips are stained slightly from the burgundy. He bites down around a smile and Harry just about manages to tear his eyes away from Louis’ lips and find his gaze. 

“He has you know. Not that I can say I blame him.”

Louis is shaking his head, but he is laughing which Harry takes as a good sign. Suddenly a question, which has been mulling around Harry’s mind for several days, comes to the fore and before he has time to think better of it he asks,

“How come you never told me that you’re a singer?”

Louis snorts into his wine and gives Harry a look as if to say _oh please_.

“I mean it,” Harry smirks through his words as he leans back in his chair and hooks his ankle with Louis’ under the table. “How come I’ve never heard you sing?”

“I’m not a singer,” Louis says, which doesn’t quite answer the question. “It was just a silly teenage fantasy. The way Liam tells it makes it sound like more than it was. It’s not like we would ever have had a hope in hell of making it onto something like the X Factor!”

“Teenage fantasies aren’t necessarily silly,” Harry muses. He thinks back to when he was that age. Fantasy was all he had. All that kept him going most nights. 

“Well,” Louis frowns at him oddly, “this one was.”

“I bet you have a beautiful singing voice. If you’re speaking voice is anything to go by...” It’s cheesy of course but he hopes Louis knows how sincere it is. By the smile on Louis’ face, Harry feels sure he does. 

For a moment, Harry toys with the idea of telling Louis that he too had dreamed of being on the X Factor once upon a time. It had been his favourite show as a child. He remembers lying flat on his stomach, threadbare carpet scratching his belly and knees, dreaming of the escape the show seemed to offer. It was a tantalising dream, just out of reach on the other side of a TV screen. Years later it had seemed so silly, when he didn’t even have a bed to speak of, to dream so big, but lying on his back in the gutter, he had had nowhere to look but up at the stars. 

“Harry?” Louis’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts and Harry blinks twice, focusing on Louis’ worried face across from him. “Are you OK?”

It’s happened again. The dark curtain falling momentarily across Harry’s mind only to be parted moments later by Louis’ voice. A heavy sadness has been swelling and rising like an incoming tide for weeks on end. Recently it has gathered momentum, fuelled by a cold sense of panic. Ever since that evening, after the picnic… well, let’s just say, Harry feels as though the tide is coming in. 

But for Louis’ sake he is going to learn how to swim. This date is perfect. Everything about it. The decor, the food, the weather outside, the little candle on the table, bouncing light across Louis’ face, Louis. Louis has been so confident, so full of life recently, he makes Harry want to burst with pride. Harry feels so lucky and so, so happy. He really does.

But this is the problem. Harry is _feeling_. He has been feeling for weeks now. For months in fact it’s been creeping up on him. He is feeling more than he ever thought it possible to feel, and somewhere along the way he has started feeling all the things he tried so desperately to forget. In vain, he thinks bitterly, remembering the pub, the sick flash of grey eyes flecked with gold. Some things aren’t allowed to be forgotten…

“Hey…” Louis’s voice is barely more than a whisper above the chatter from the other tables. He leans forward and links his fingers with Harry’s. Harry blinks and looks down at their hands entwined. Louis’ hand is so small in his own. It fits perfectly. He doesn’t know how to even begin to explain this but he made a promise to Louis so he’s damn well going to try…

“Chocolate sundae for two,” an officious voice makes Harry jump slightly and Louis loosens his hold on his hand, leaning back to let the waiter place the huge glass of ice cream and chocolate sauce in the centre of the table. “And two spoons. Enjoy!” The waiter throws a wink Louis’ way, which Louis misses, and suddenly Harry feels really quite irritated. They are obviously on a date and a flouncing waiter in too-tight trousers flirting with his boyfriend is not what he ordered. 

Harry pouts and grabs his spoon. Louis is watching Harry expectantly, as though hoping Harry will explain whatever the hell his little display of weakness just now had been about. Instead he takes a huge scoop of ice cream and offers it to Louis. Louis doesn’t open his mouth in time and ends up with rather a lot of it smeared on his lips, which is, quite frankly, an image Harry could do without in a public place. Louis tries for stern disapproval before breaking into a giggle and licking his lips. They are both laughing as Harry leans across the table to kiss the last remnants of ice cream off his lips. 

Harry hopes the waiter is watching. 

***

“Would you do it? Now, I mean. If you had the chance to be on X Factor would you?” 

Louis lifts his head from where it has been tucked into Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s arm is wrapped around his shoulders and the other is holding onto the rail hanging from the ceiling of the carriage, his bicep pulling tight against the material of his jacket. Louis has his arms wrapped around Harry’s waist, relying on him to keep the both of them steady against the sway of the train as they head towards Ed’s gig. 

“I would have to ask Big Payno, see if he’s free.”

Harry chuckles down at him and pecks him on the nose. 

They’re both slightly tipsy and Louis feels so content, he doesn’t care that they must look nauseating to all the other passengers. That moment earlier in the restaurant, when Harry had looked suddenly desperately unhappy, seems so distant and out-of-place with the rest of their evening that Louis has just about managed to forget it, at least for the moment. 

“Personally, I’m not sure that I would want the fame,” he says thoughtfully. 

He nuzzles into Harry’s neck once more so that his next words brush against his bare collarbone. 

“I was never really that fussed. It was more Liam who had dreams of being a pop star.”

“Oh yeah?”

Louis nods against Harry and presses further into him as the train swerves around a bend. 

“He has a great voice, I swear he could actually have got somewhere with it.”

“And you don’t think you could?”

“Not really.” Before Harry has a chance to express any form of pity or concern Louis hurriedly adds, “I mean, it didn’t bother me or anything, I just don’t think I would be good enough to be like… Robbie Williams or someone.”

“Robbie Williams? Very up-to-date pop reference there.” 

“Shut up. Robbie was my hero.” Louis pokes Harry in the side, hard enough that he twists awkwardly and ends up almost elbowing a fellow passenger in the face. He apologises profusely and Louis has to stifle a laugh against his shoulder. 

A few moments of easy silence pass between them. Harry ducks his head to check how many more stops they have. All at once it hits Louis what Harry is really asking of him, with all this talk of singing and the X Factor, and he remembers something Dr Corden had said to him, a few weeks ago, about sharing himself with Harry. Sure, Louis told Harry about the rape and at the time that had felt as though he was baring his soul, telling everything there was to tell, but…

_So that’s one thing about you. What about the rest?_

“I…” he clears his throat, feeling foolish and fourteen years old again. Harry looks down at him, expectant and fond, eyebrows raised in a slight question. “I used to dream about being an actor. I was quite serious about it actually.” He looks away from Harry and down at their shoes. Not for the first time he registers how small his feet are compared to Harry’s. Harry doesn’t say anything so he continues,

“I did a production of Grease in sixth form. I played Danny. And I just loved it so much. So when I started at uni here I joined the drama society and did some shows, mostly musicals, that’s how I met El actually… anyway, I did some shows and I really, really enjoyed them a lot but then I dropped out of uni and rehearsals didn’t fit around my shifts at the Regal and… well, you know…” he ends it rather lamely, knowing he doesn’t need to explain. 

Harry’s arm tightens around his shoulders. 

“I can one hundred percent see you as Danny!” His voice is fierce with conviction and Louis looks up tentatively. He hopes his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. 

“I got some pretty good reviews if I do say so myself. I mean, it was mostly my friends doing the reviewing but still.” He shrugs. 

Harry looks as though all his Christmases have come at once. He looks into Louis’ eyes, grinning excitedly. 

“Can I review your next show?” His eagerness seems somewhat misplaced considering Louis has no intention of there being a _next show_ any time soon. 

“I’m not sure you will be able to provide the sort of impartiality that’s required for honest reviewing.” 

Harry looks positively indignant. 

“How dare you call my integrity into question. I will be the very epitome of impartiality. The fact that I already know I will be giving you a five star, no make that six star review is absolutely beside the point.” His voice softens and he leans in until their noses are bumping and Louis has to crinkle his eyes against a cascade of brown curls. “I already know you’re brilliant. It’s not bias, it’s just fact.”

Louis’ insides feel all warm and gooey and sickly sweet and if he were to blame it on the chocolate sundae he would be a liar. He could say _I love you_. Instead he says,

“I think you need to look up bias in a dictio…”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Harry cuts him off with a smiling kiss, holding him close and tight as the train shudders to a halt. Mercifully, they break apart just in time to realise that this is their stop.

***

The venue is an old assembly hall, large and noisy with wood panelling, parts of which have been stripped away to make room for strange, darkly coloured murals leading to exposed pipe work. There is a stage at one end of the hall, where they find Ed engrossed in conversation with a man who clearly works here. They are fiddling with the sound equipment and Harry has to call out twice before Ed looks up and notices them. 

“Hey guys,” he says brightly, hands full of wires. “So glad you could make it.” He sounds slightly nervous. Louis doesn’t think he has ever heard Ed sound nervous before. “This is Brian, by the way.” He indicates the man standing next to him, who only half glances up long enough to throw a polite smile their way. “This is his place,” Ed adds as an afterthought. 

“Cool place” Harry says, his usual charming self.

“Thanks,” Brian doesn’t look up as he says it. “It’s a nightmare to keep clean.”

They wish Ed luck before leaving him to it, heading towards the back of the hall where they spot Liam and Zayn ordering at the bar, pressed close to each other’s sides against the throng of people clamouring to get drinks before the show starts. 

“Hey” Louis gently nudges his foot into the crook of Liam’s knee making it buckle slightly. Liam whips his head around and grins when he sees them. Zayn follows suit.

“We thought you two weren’t coming,” Liam says raising his eyebrows. 

“I told you we were,” comes Louis’ indignant response against the crowd. 

“Yeah but even so…” Zayn looks between them pointedly, almost as though he is unsure whether to be amused or disappointed. 

“How was the support act?” Louis asks. Liam shrugs. 

“A bit meh to be honest. Not bad but you didn’t really miss much.”

They have to press in tight to make themselves heard. Harry’s hand is placed possessively on Louis’ hip. Louis leans some of his weight against Harry, not so much that it will be noticeable to anyone else, but enough that Harry feels it and shifts slightly, cheeks dimpling adorably.

“Lot of people here tonight,” he observes, looking around the hall in awe. 

“Any day now, he’s gonna get signed. Just you wait,” Zayn says proudly, nodding over to where Ed is now sound-testing his mic. Harry agrees enthusiastically. 

They order beers including one for Niall, who Liam insists is in the toilets and will only be a minute. When they have each downed about a third of their pints, Niall finally emerges from somewhere to their right, very specifically not from the direction of the toilets, trying and failing to bite back a not-so-subtle grin.

“Where have you been?” Louis asks accusingly, as Niall grabs him and then Harry in big bear hugs. 

“Smoking area” Niall shrugs, all faux innocent, as he steps back from Harry. 

“You don’t smoke.” Louis narrows his eyes at Niall. “You’ve pulled!”

“No, I haven’t!” His grin suggests otherwise. “Cheers mate,” he says, pointedly not looking at Louis as he takes his pint from Harry. 

“You’re blushing.” Zayn adds, and Niall doesn’t even bother to deny it. “Which way did you say the smoking area was again?”

“Just through that door there,” Niall points across to a large fire exit with an imposing security guard stood in front of it, whose sole purpose seems to be to stop people from taking their drinks outside. 

“Tommo?” Zayn raises his eyebrows in a question and tilts his head towards the door. 

“Malik.” Louis nods, before turning to Harry. “Do you mind Hazza?” Apparently nicknames are all the rage tonight. 

Harry chuckles and puts his arm around Louis’ shoulders. 

“Nah, course not. I’ll stay here and keep the non-smokers entertained. You go.” He presses his lips close to Louis’ ear and whispers so that only he can hear. “I’ll try and find out what’s got Niall so smiley.”

“You do that,” Louis whispers back. He pecks Harry lightly on the lips, before pulling away just enough to drink him in. He is by far and away the most gorgeous man in the room. But then that’s generally the case, no matter what room Harry is in. 

“I’ll miss you,” Louis whines, and he pouts as he extricates himself and follows Zayn towards the door. The other boys meet his words with gagging noises and Louis chooses to ignore them, instead turning back to catch one more glimpse of Harry, tall and slender in his black suit, the gold trim of his jacket glinting in the dim lights, watching Louis with a fond smile.

***

Zayn takes a drag of his cigarette and manages to somehow ignore the obnoxious wolf whistles from a group of girls nearby as they pass him. Louis watches his mouth moving as he speaks, and wonders what it must be like to be as pretty as Zayn. 

He is talking about his blog, one of the rare topics on which Zayn can feasibly be described as talkative. His blog and Liam are really the only two contenders. 

Louis is only half-listening, content to soak in the atmosphere and the rush of nicotine in his veins, to relish the warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach at the thought of Harry, waiting for him just on the other side of the door. It will be just like the last time they saw Ed play, Louis thinks excitedly. He wonders if maybe Ed has written any more songs about them. 

“I’ve got nearly twenty-thousand followers now,” Zayn is saying. “I mean, I know that’s like nothing compared to Harry but…” – he takes a drag - “speaking of whom, I keep meaning to get his url from you so I can follow him. I haven’t actually even seen his blog. It’s like, all his own photography right? Or is it just like, any photography?” 

“Er…” he shrugs.

Truthfully, Louis doesn’t know. The fact that he has never yet been allowed to see Harry’s Tumblr is one of those niggling thoughts which Louis is training himself to ignore. 

“I think it’s mostly his stuff.”

Zayn frowns slightly but doesn’t ask any more, clearly sensing that this is a delicate subject. He takes a final drag before flicking the butt to the ground. A girl leaning against the wall next to them is growling agitatedly into her phone, her voice rising with each word as she accuses the person at the other end of being a selfish bastard. Louis adjusts his collar slightly, which is tight around his neck. He feels slightly silly, being so much more dressed up than everyone else. 

Suddenly he wishes he hadn’t left Harry’s side. The smell of cigarette smoke lingering in the air is nauseating. Something feels off.

“You ok?” Zayn asks.

“Yeah, m’good.” Louis wonders when the last time they had one of these monosyllabic exchanges was. Not for a while surely. 

“How was your romantic dinner?” 

“Good,” Louis nods, and then repeats his answer for good measure. The memory settles him again, and he finds that he can’t help but smile. “The waiter was hitting on me. Or at least that’s what Harry said.”

Zayn laughs. 

“Unsurprising considering your bum in those trousers.” 

“Oi, Harry is the only one who is allowed to objectify me, thank you very much!” He smirks and Zayn smirks back although something still feels not quite right. Louis regrets drinking beer after red wine. 

“Shall we go back in and find the others?” he suggests after a moment’s pause, in which the girl practically yells into her phone, _yeah well fuck you too_. 

***

When they get inside they can’t see the others where they left them by the bar. They figure they must be in the crowd, near the front of the stage, and they decide to go to the toilets quickly before Ed starts. The crowd is big enough that once they’re in the thick of it, it will be difficult to get out again. They emerge from the toilets just in time to catch the last words of Ed’s introduction over the opening chords of a song which Louis doesn’t recognise. It must be new. 

They push their way as best they can to the centre of the crowd, Zayn in front, craning to spot the others. After a few moments he looks back at Louis and shakes his head, bemused. Huh. That’s weird. Louis looks back over his shoulder and smiles momentarily when he spots Liam and Niall, a few meters back, clearly searching for them as well. He catches Liam’s eye but his smile falters when he sees that Harry isn’t with them. He taps Zayn to get his attention, and the two of them push their way back through the crowd, muttering apologies under their breath although nobody will hear them above the music. 

“Where’s Harry?” Louis says into Liam’s ear, when they reach each other. 

“He said he was going to find you. He walked off before I had a chance to ask him if he was ok. He looked kind of faint.” Liam frowns. “He didn’t find you?”

“Well clearly not.” Louis doesn’t mean it to sound as rude as it does, but fuck. What if Harry is having one of his weird turns again, like that time at the pub after the picnic? 

“What do you mean faint?”

“I dunno, like kind of pale. This man pushed past him and nearly knocked him over…” 

The thought of Harry wandering around, paper-pale and trying to find him, makes Louis’ heart clench uncomfortably. 

“I’m gonna go find him.” 

Liam must hear something in Louis’ voice because he looks at him oddly and after a beat says,

“I’ll come with you.”

Louis would say no, don’t bother, but something in him stays his tongue and instead he nods his gratitude. 

“He’s not that way,” Zayn inclines his head back into the crowd from where he and Louis have just come. 

“Maybe he’s outside,” Niall offers. They begin to head in that direction. It seems they’re all coming, which Louis appreciates, although he can’t explain why. The crowd applauds as Ed’s song comes to an end and he starts up a new one. Louis reaches the door and looks at the security guard expectantly, trying to hide his impatience. The guard gives the four of them a disinterested once over before stepping aside to allow them through. 

The cold air and stale smell of smoke hits Louis as he steps out into the night, feeling a pang of panic when he doesn’t immediately see Harry. 

“There he is,” Niall says brightly, and a moment later Louis spots him several metres away, obscured slightly in shadow. Louis takes a few steps towards him, but falters, as he sees that Harry is speaking to someone. A tall, lanky man in baggy jeans and an ill-fitting shirt. He can’t hear Harry’s words, but the way Harry’s lips are moving… there is a tremor there and a downward sweep of disdain that Louis has never seen before. Something in Harry’s drawn yet defiant stance puts Louis in mind of a boxer, beaten into his own corner. The lanky man steps forward and under the artificial street light Louis can see his sharp profile, deep purple bruises on his neck and a nose which is crooked at the bridge, as though it has been broken at least once. The way Harry looks up at the taller man, eyes at once full of hatred and terror, makes Louis’ blood run cold. 

“Who is that?” Liam asks under his breath. Clearly something about the scene has struck the other boys as well. Harry still doesn’t seem to have noticed them. 

Suddenly Louis finds his feet and he rushes forward, overwhelmed with the desperate urge to put himself between Harry and anybody who makes Harry’s face look like that. He starts forward and as he nears them he hears the rough, Mancunian growl of the man carried through the night air. 

“… pity your daddy didn’t fuck some sense into him too.”

Louis is an arm’s length away from Harry when it happens. Harry doesn’t see him. In that moment, Louis doesn’t think Harry sees anything but red. In years to come what Louis will remember most clearly is the split-second flash in Harry’s eye, the violent spark of flint on flint. And the sound. He hears the crack before he sees the blood, the sickening crunch of knuckle on bone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading as always! If you are enjoying it please leave kudos. Every kudos means a more than you know (unless you also write fic of course!) Anyway, until next time my loves...


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, this is potentially a triggering chapter so please be careful and check the tags before reading. Also, I am super nervous about posting this chapter, but I really hope you guys enjoy it.

Greyson emerges from the crowd like a ghost materialising out of thin air. A half-forgotten memory, taking on form and body, like waking up from a nightmare only to find that it is real. So Harry hadn’t imagined it, that evening after the picnic, when he had thought for a second that he had spotted Greyson outside the pub. 

The familiarity of his voice makes Harry’s skin crawl.

“You’re looking good baby.”

Greedy eyes, beady and grey, flecked with gold. They remind Harry of bleak nights in rainy doorways, punctuated by sharp flashes of pain. 

“What are you doing here?” he growls with as much venom as he can muster. His heart is in his mouth and his pulse is in his ears. Where are his friends? Where is Louis? 

“Oh?” Greyson pouts. “Don’t be like that. I thought we were friends Harry. I’ve missed you.”

“Stay away from me.” A tremble in Harry’s voice exposes him, making Greyson’s lips curl into a snarling smile.

“Harry, I thought we were friends. Didn’t I always look out for you? Hmm? Didn’t I always make sure to get you only the richest, juiciest cock?”

“Fuck you.” Harry turns to walk away, realising too late that he has walked himself into a corner. 

Where is Louis? 

Greyson follows him, stepping into his space until they are less than a foot apart and suddenly Harry is hit with that familiar old aftershave, sharp and tangy. To Harry’s mind it wreaks of dirt under fingernails and cum.

“How’s business in London?” he asks, greedy eyes flashing, “I bet these big city bankers must pay through their arses for a pretty mouth like yours.”

Harry freezes as Greyson reaches out to run a calloused thumb along his bottom lip. He is sixteen again. Nothing has changed. There is no London, no bakery, no Ed, no Louis. He is waking up from the most beautiful dream he has ever had. 

Except, that can’t be right. He tears his chin out of Greyson’s clutches, stepping back to glare up at him in defiance. He tries to settle the sick swirl of his stomach. He thinks of Louis’ blue eyes. 

Where is Louis?

“I know what you did,” he growls, his voice low and menacing despite the tremor.

Greyson blinks.

“What did I do Harry?” 

When Harry doesn’t immediately answer he adds, more to himself than to Harry, “pretty boy, you’re looking so expensive these days, although perhaps a little too old now.”

“You as good as killed him,” Harry hisses, trying to keep the rising hysteria out of his voice.

Greyson raises his eyebrows. A challenge.

“You knew,” Harry continues, head spinning, “you knew that man was dangerous and you let him go anyway. For money. You couldn’t give a fuck whether we lived or died.” His words are emboldening him; all the things he wanted to say at sixteen and couldn’t.

“That’s not true Harry,” Greyson smiles at him. His voice drips with the soothing tone of an abusive husband placating his beaten wife. “Didn’t I always take care of you?”

Harry doesn’t bother to dignify that with a response.

“You killed him.” With each word that Harry spits out he feels a greater sense of power. “You. Fucking. Killed. Him.”

“He was always going to end up dead,” Greyson shrugs. He waves the words off with a slight smile, as though commenting on the inevitability of rain at a picnic. Harry’s body is tingling with hatred, a hatred so strong it has taken chemical form and entered his bloodstream. 

“You make me sick,” he spits. 

Greyson looks surprised. It’s a good act. 

“Harry, don’t you think if I could have saved him I would?” The sound of his voice curdles Harry’s insides, like nails on a chalkboard. He can feel his palms curling into fists as Greyson keeps talking. “He was beyond help. He wasn’t smart like you and I. I warned him, don’t get me wrong. I tried to look out for him but in the end it was always going to be you wasn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” Harry’s voice is weak in his own ears, as though hearing it from a distance. 

“You were always going to be the one to survive. Even when so few do. You were smarter than the rest. When it came down to it, you could have gone that night, but you didn’t because you were smart enough to know not to. But you let him go. You’re as guilty as I am.”

Greyson is puffing out his chest, growing miles high with the victory of this lowest of blows. His crooked nose is a reminder of past battles, played dirty.

“God, he was so fucking dumb…” Greyson is huffing out his words as though something is funny, “…what an idiot…” Harry’s blood is pulsing in his ears. He sways slightly, almost losing balance, “…tried to warn him. He wasn’t as smart as you Harry…” Harry stares at the ugly crook in Greyson’s nose, focuses on that point. “He was always going to go and get himself killed the little fucker, pretty little fucker…” Harry sees white spots flash before his eyes. He feels drunk on a century’s worth of pain, “… pity your daddy didn’t fuck some sense into him too.”

Everything boils over and blood red streaks across Harry’s vision. There is a crunch and then…

Harry feels as though he is in free-fall. Time seems to take on a strange underwater quality, its only measure the tick-tock of throbbing pain exploding in his knuckle and shooting up into his chest. Hands descend on his body, pulling him back, holding him up. Greyson’s face swims before him, blood spattered, lips moving without sound as though on mute, drifting in and out of focus like the lens on his camera. 

Suddenly it is as though the volume on the world has been turned up to max. There is a cry and a commotion all about and Harry feels as though he is at the centre of it, but it is separate to him. He is in the eye of the storm. He tries to shake away the ringing in his ears. He is being pulled towards the building. His feet are stumbling over each other. The hands around his waist and on his shoulders are firm. He thinks if not for them he might fall apart.

A voice begins to pierce through the ringing, pulling Harry back, making him kick for the surface. The voice is telling Harry that everything will be ok. The voice is close and familiar. It makes Harry want to cry with relief. 

***

A security guard takes Harry from between Liam and Louis’ supportive grip. The guard is massive and Harry looks limp and defeated as he is hurried towards a staff-only door. Louis is close on their heels, heart pounding a mile a minute, desperate to call out to Harry and make him turn around. It’s no use over the sound of the crowd. He doesn’t spare even a moment to glance back at the stage. 

Inside a damp stairwell the noise from Ed’s gig is muffled and compressed into eerie distortion. Their feet clang as they climb up. Harry’s feet are unsure, feeling clumsily for the next step as though encountering stairs for the first time. Louis doesn’t quite register that Zayn and Niall aren’t with them. All he can think of is Harry. 

As if on cue Harry’s head snaps around and he catches Louis’ eyes, his own wide in shock. He is craning his neck to hold Louis’ gaze despite the movement of the guard, who steers him more firmly upwards. 

At the top of the stairs there is a small office, overcrowded with old out-dated sound equipment, phones and bits of broken bicycle. There is a single chair pressed up against the wall which the guard carefully guides Harry into. Immediately Harry’s head falls into his hands. The curve of his neck, where it meets his spine, peaks out, vulnerable and pale as his curls fall forward to hide his face.

“You just wait here son, and we’ll figure this all out alright?” The guard’s accent has the rolling Yorkshire thickness of Louis’ own, and a little of his anxiety settles as he realises that this man, whoever he is, is not going to hurt Harry. 

As the guard steps back, Louis steps forward and crouches so that they are level. Harry doesn’t stir until Louis places both hands on his knees, thumbs running in soothing circles, the way Harry’s own had run over Louis’ palm in the taxi all those months ago. Liam’s hand is tracing similar patterns into Louis’ shoulder. A chain of comfort.

“Harry, you’re ok. I’m here.” It’s all he can say. He can’t say more with the security guard looming over them. Harry reaches out and paws gently at Louis’ sternum. He seems to be grounding himself. Or searching for something.

 _If you’re looking for my heart_ , Louis thinks, _you already have it_. 

The air is thick and heavy in the small office. It smells of stale coffee. A distant roar from the crowd suggests that Ed has finished another song. Louis wonders if he has played _their_ song yet. Harry’s eyes, still wide and quivering, are the dark green of lakes under the half-light of the office lamp. He is looking intently at Louis. Louis sends him a small, reassuring smile. That seems to break him. 

“I’m…” he begins but the words die on his lips. He shakes his head and tries again. “I’m… sorry.” It’s almost a whimper and once it’s out Harry hangs his head again. 

“Shhh, it’s ok,” Louis tries to soothe, slowly rubbing his hands up and down Harry’s thighs, ignoring the cramping in his own legs. “I’m here. I love you,” he whispers.

What else can he say? He is so confused. He is vaguely aware of minutes passing by and the security guard coming in and out of the room, muttering into his walkie-talkie in hushed tones. 

After what feels like an age, Niall comes crashing through the door, followed by Zayn and the man whom Louis recognises as the owner of the venue. Brian maybe? At the sound Harry looks up, startled, and grabs Louis’ hands in his own as though to steady himself. 

“He’s not going to press charges,” Niall announces, as though answering a question. He is slightly breathless and his cheeks are flushed. He has a fierce glint in his eye, which Louis has only ever seen before on the football field. Behind him, Zayn’s mouth is set in a hard determined line. 

“Charges? Why would he press charges?” Liam’s voice is weighted with the same dread that Louis can feel pooling in the pit of his stomach. Despite Niall’s news being meant as a reassurance it is deeply disturbing. Louis hadn’t for a moment stopped to consider that what Harry had done was illegal. From the tightening of his fists and the sharp intake of his breath, neither had Harry.

“He can’t” says Brian, coming to hover over the two of them, casting a shadow across Harry’s lap. “He’s already barred from this place, don’t know how the fuck he got in. He’s a known dealer,” he adds when nobody offers any response. “He was talking big but he was bluffing. If he presses charges about this, he’ll cause a whole lot of shit for himself.”

Brian’s explanation isn’t making anything any clearer in Louis’ head. He feels like a cornered animal protecting her pup. Everybody else needs to go away right now. Why was Harry talking to a known dealer? And why did he punch him? He needs to talk to Harry. 

“I don’t get it? Who is he?” Liam says to no one in particular. 

“I’m just glad we saw them when we did,” Zayn exhales lowly. “Who knows what could have happened…”

This isn’t helping, Louis thinks desperately. He can’t seem to find his voice. 

“What did happen?” Brian continues. His tone is cold, and when Louis turns to look at him he realises that he is glaring down expectantly at the top of Harry’s bowed head. 

“Maybe now’s not the time,” Niall says pointedly. Louis is grateful for Niall. 

But what the fuck are they all doing here? Suddenly Louis doesn’t understand why any of this is the way it is. He doesn’t understand how they ended up here when two hours ago they were smirking at each other across a restaurant table, laughing about an overly friendly waiter. He doesn’t understand why they are still here now. Harry needs to be far away from all these people. From everyone who isn’t Louis. They just need to be themselves again, in each other’s arms, and this will all turn out to have been a fitful nightmare. Louis tries to convince himself that it must be so. 

Brian is talking about incident reports and potential legal repercussions, mumbling things to the security guard. There were witnesses to the assault aside from them. He keeps using the word _assault_ and it takes Louis a while to realise he is talking about Harry and not the other man. All the while Harry remains, head bowed, knuckles wrapped white and on one side, purple, around Louis’ smaller hands. 

The sweat between their palms is sticky and Louis’ fingers are almost numb with how tightly Harry is squeezing them and how tightly Louis is squeezing back. His thighs have seized up so completely he has to rock forward, kneeling on the scratchy, threadbare carpet. He is so grateful for his friends. They must sort everything out around them because eventually Brian comes over to where Louis is now resting his chin on Harry’s lap, trying to soothe his knees which have begun to shake, and says that a taxi is waiting downstairs to take them home. His parting farewell consists of informing them that Harry is barred from the venue for life, and that they should be grateful it isn’t anything worse than that. The words hardly register. Louis doesn’t think there is a hope in hell that either of them will ever want to come back. 

***

Louis tells the taxi driver Rowntree Avenue without a second thought. Harry is silent the whole way, staring out of the window. Louis lets his hand fall open on the seat between them in case Harry wants to hold it, but he doesn’t turn around once. 

Louis tries to gather his thoughts. Really, he thinks, it’s not so dramatic. So Harry punched someone. Lots of people punch people, everyday. He remembers seeing it happen quite often after the football matches his stepdad used to take him to as a kid. It’s no big deal really. 

Except… this is Harry, the gentlest person Louis has ever known. The memory of the moment keeps flashing before him. The violence in Harry’s eyes had been shocking. No, not violence. That was the wrong word. Desperation. Hurt. 

When they get home, Louis guides Harry slowly up towards his room. Harry is malleable in his arms but still he will not look at Louis’ face. His earlier wide-eyed anxiety seems to have been replaced with a deep, dark shadow. He hangs his head as Louis guides him over to the bed and sits him down gently. 

“Do you want some water?” 

Harry shakes his head.

“Or something to eat?”

Harry’s shoulders slump and for a moment Louis wonders if Harry is crying, although he remembers what Harry told him, that he can’t cry. 

Louis sits beside him on the bed, and stretches his arm around Harry’s broad, sloping shoulders. Eventually he feels Harry sink into his side and breathe him in in deep, desperate breaths.

Suddenly, sharply, Harry sits up and pulls away to face the opposite wall. Louis almost suspects he is about to get up and leave, so he is shocked when Harry speaks. It’s the first time he has spoken since his stuttering apology in the office, over an hour ago. 

“You must have a million questions in your head right now and you haven’t asked a single one.” His voice sounds small, cracked and tired.

“I thought you wouldn’t want me to ask,” Louis replies, making sure his tone is gentle rather than accusatory. 

Harry nods. He shuffles further away from Louis, escaping his embrace, and the space between them leaves Louis feeling bereft. He drops his arm limply. 

“I don’t want you to ask, you’re right. But you have to because otherwise I don’t know how to tell you and I might never.” Harry’s words are quick and sharp, as though he is scared he may never say them if he doesn’t say them now.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to Harry.” 

Harry snaps his head around and fixes Louis with a determined stare. 

“Yes I do.” He looks fierce. “I _have_ to tell you because you deserve to know, and I’ve realised I _need_ you to know because you’re the person I want to share everything with and you need to know everything for us to...” His breathing is becoming more erratic. He is almost pleading with Louis. 

“Ok,” Louis nods, searching Harry’s face. “Ok. You can tell me.”

Harry opens and closes his mouth. He looks at Louis pleadingly. Then he shakes his head.

Louis tears his eyes away from Harry’s own fearful ones, giving himself a second to think. 

“Perhaps…” he says, meeting Harry’s gaze again, “do you want me to ask you questions? Maybe it will be easier that way.”

Harry nods. Louis brings up a hand to brush the hair away from Harry’s brow where it has begun to cling to the beads of sweat there. He is cold and clammy, but his eyes are bright with newfound determination, and Louis will be damned if he passes up this opportunity to finally understand the beautiful boy sat in front of him, offering to open himself up for Louis. Because he _loves_ Louis. 

At that thought Louis’ heart clenches painfully. He loves Harry so much and he knows no matter what he finds out here tonight, he will always love Harry. He traces a curve down Harry’s cheek before dropping his hand back into his own lap, sensing that Harry will need space for this. Harry is staring at him expectantly, looking at once so scared and so trusting. Louis takes a deep breath.

“Who was that man?” He decides to begin with something simple, at least hopefully simple. Harry gets up abruptly and moves to stand in front of Louis, who looks up at him patiently from the bed.

“His name is Greyson.” He looks at his feet and begins to pace. When he doesn’t offer anything else, Louis realises it is his turn again.

“Erm… how do you know him?”

“From Manchester. You remember I told you I was homeless for a bit?” 

“Yeah.” As if he could possibly have forgotten. 

“Well, I know him from those days.” Harry’s voice is strained, as though the effort of talking is almost too much, but he seems determined. “He wasn’t homeless himself but he was all involved with a bunch of the kids on the street. He was around a lot.”

Louis swallows, bracing himself. 

“What do you mean by _involved_?”

“I mean involved. Like… ok, so he was a dealer. But the thing is, I know it probably didn’t seem it tonight, but he always came across like one of the nice… well, _nicer_ guys. Kind of. Out there at least.” Harry’s words are gaining speed, fuelled by a sense of urgency. It’s like he’s purging. “If you didn’t have the money to pay him then and there, he wouldn’t be aggressive or beat you up… well, most of the time he wouldn’t. He kind of drew you in, seemed to offer protection or… something, I don’t know.” Harry stops pacing. 

“So, he was good to you?”

He shakes his head. He watches Louis expectantly, waiting for another question.

“Er… so he wasn’t good to you?” Louis is struggling to know what to ask. Already the conversation is confusing him.

“He wasn’t, no. As it turns out he was far more dangerous than the guys who would just beat you up.” 

Louis’ heart is beating very fast under his shirt, so fast he is sure Harry must be able to hear it. 

“Dangerous how?”

Harry inhales sharply and starts pacing again.

“He would be all sweet and manipulative. Like if you didn’t have his money, or if you fucked up a deal for him he would be all sad and disappointed in you that you let him down and stuff, but he would make a big thing of doing favours, small things, sometimes not even real favours, he just pretended they were and then he made you feel like you owed him everything. And he would make the kids do stuff…”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Oh, you know…” 

Louis blinks at Harry and Harry pauses to look Louis straight in the face.

“Like sex and blowjobs and stuff.” He starts pacing again. “Mostly just blowjobs because they’re easier to get away with down an alley. Very few of the boys were ever allowed to his house.”

Louis swallows, trying to process the information. Harry is talking about a world that he has only seen on TV. His memory of Greyson swims before him, growing clear in his head. The way he had pressed in on Harry, looming and leering until he had seemed to grow eight feet tall. The sharp cut of his adam’s apple bobbing grotesquely under sallow skin. 

“Did he…” Louis clears his throat where it has become stuck. “Did he make you do that?”

Harry nods as though to force the words out of himself. 

“Yeah. But not because of the drugs so much. I didn’t really do them that much like some of the boys did. I was lucky, I guess, I don’t think I have an addictive personality. And anyway, I couldn’t let myself get into the state that they did… because of Sebastian.”

“Who is Sebastian?” Louis’ voice sounds a lot calmer than he feels.

Harry stops pacing and squeezes his eyes shut for a second. He shakes his head and opens his eyes again. 

“Not yet.”

“Ok…” Louis hesitates. “So, I’m confused. Greyson was… is a drug-dealer?”

Harry nods. He looks Louis square in the eye. 

“And a pimp.” The word fills the room like a poison, spilling into the following silence. 

Louis’ heart is fluttering painfully and he feels nauseous. Now that he knows what his next question is, he doesn’t want to ask it. He’s not sure he can bear to hear the answer. Harry is standing stock still, staring at him, waiting. It is as though the very air between them is bracing itself. 

“Was he… _your_ pimp Harry?” Louis sends a prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in and knows that it goes unheard when Harry slowly nods through the gloom. 

It’s too much to take in, and what’s more Louis’ heart is breaking. He feels it crumbling away and sinking into the pit of his stomach, where it heaves desperately, crying out to a long lost childhood version of Harry.

Harry is still staring at him. His expression is unreadable. 

“I… er… how…?” Louis shakes his head, trying to clear his mind. 

“The thing is Louis,” Harry’s voice is strangely calm and there is something in it that Louis doesn’t like, “it’s all very well and good people in society looking at people like me and being disgusted” – What? No, Louis thinks – “but when you’re there, on the streets, and you have no one, you have to do whatever you can to survive. If you don’t do whatever it is you have to do, you die. Yes there are shelters and well-meaning passers by who give you some money, but it doesn’t work like that. Not where I was and not with the people that I got mixed up with.”

Louis looks at him desperately. 

“You don’t have to justify it Harry, I’m not judging you. I would never…” He trails off. It’s a small and redundant statement. It doesn’t even begin to explain what he is feeling. Harry comes to sit on the bed, a good meter away from Louis, and not quite looking at him. 

“I know you’re not, but I need to explain,” he sighs. 

Louis nods. Harry takes a deep breath and when he next speaks his eyes are distant.

“The first time it happened I hardly even thought about it. I was with Sebastian. He had taken too much of whatever shit one of Greyson’s boys had given him, was hardly conscious, his eyes were rolling back in his head, his mouth was frothing… Anyway, one of the guys from the building… at the time we were squatting in this huge block of apartments, really fancy apartments that had been gutted for demolition and then something had happened to the contract or something, and the building was abandoned. So… one of the guys I recognised who had been around quite a bit, he came up to where me and Sebastian were and he started saying all this stuff about how Sebastian owed him a load of money and if he didn’t pay him back he would fuck him… or kill him, or both. It wasn’t clear but it was fucking terrifying.” 

“The guy seemed pretty off his face, I don’t know what he was on. He was quite young, probably in his twenties, but he was really built and he had loads of track marks on his arms, I remember that about him. Anyway, he started yelling and dragging Sebastian up by his collar, who could hardly stand at this point, and he was threatening to do all this… stuff to him. I was trying to explain, yelling at him that we didn’t have any money, and he said there were other ways he could be paid. He had his hands all over Sebastian, and Sebastian started laughing because he thought he was being tickled even though the guy was gripping him so hard he had massive bruises for days after. I just remember trying desperately to pull this guy off him and in the end the only thing that worked was to offer myself instead. After that he calmed down a bit. I don’t remember what he said but I remember him giving me this horrible smile. One of his teeth was chipped.” Harry pauses for a long moment and then closes his eyes before continuing.

“He let me tuck Sebastian back into his blankets at least, before we went to one of the smaller rooms at the top of the building where less people slept because it was too cold… there were huge holes in the ceiling where the rain came through. He fucked me. At least I’m pretty sure he did. I don’t really remember but I remember bleeding after that so…” He opens his eyes again and turns to Louis.

“When I went back and found Sebastian he was sleeping so peacefully, it sort of made it worth it. Greyson came to me after, accusing me of going behind his back. He said he had loads of clients who would pay good money for what I had given that scumbag for free. I refused. I vowed to myself I would never do it again, unless I was saving Sebastian’s life. But Greyson eventually wore me down. Greyson and everyone else. It just seemed to make sense after a while. All the boys did it. It came to a point where it was either sell yourself, or die in a freezing cold alleyway. I would lie awake at night for hours trying to work out which one was the lesser of two evils. Just when I thought I would rather die, Sebastian would move in his sleep next to me and I would put off the decision for another day.”

It’s only when Harry stops talking that Louis realises his own cheeks are wet with tears. Harry seems to notice too, although he doesn’t say anything. 

There is silence between them. Miles and miles of it. The ticking of the clock is the only sound. What Louis wouldn’t give to turn back that clock and find Harry as a sweet, innocent child, and take him away from his life. Louis would gladly lay down his own life if it meant he could save Harry’s. 

“So…” Harry continues eventually, “now you know. A bit more about me. That was what I did on the streets. I was a prostitute, a rent boy, a whore, whatever the fuck you want to call it… I _had_ to be. To survive.” He pauses, before sighing heavily and closing his eyes. When he speaks again it is hardly more than a whisper. “At least that’s what I tell myself now. Who knows what else might have been?”

Louis is still crying, silent, fat tears which slide down his cheeks and fall onto his open palms. He wants to wrap Harry up in his arms and never let go but he finds himself motionless. 

“That was when I was fifteen. That’s when it started. And then I was sixteen and it carried on. I think I was just about to turn seventeen when Sebastian was killed…”

Louis closes his eyes against the fresh tide of tears which spring up. He had hoped that the worst was over and he realises that that’s not the case. 

“You see, Sebastian…” Harry’s voice cracks around the name. He says it reverently, like a prayer. “God, I owe him my life. He was my only reason for staying alive.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. 

“I loved him. Not because I was in love with him. It’s not like with you, I just… I think I needed something to love and he was there and needed love. He couldn’t really take care of himself properly. He was too trusting. He was a bit… simple, truth be told. I always wondered if he maybe had something official. Some kind of autism or something, not that he had ever had anyone in his life who thought he was worth the time it took to get a diagnosis. He was like me. Unwanted.” 

A rasping sob escapes Louis’ lips. Harry doesn’t seem to notice.

“He was so innocent and he just did whatever anyone told him. He was very pretty in a strange sort of way, very sharp cheekbones, tight golden curls and long, long lashes. His looks made things worse actually. He was always very _in demand_.” Harry let’s out a long sad sigh. He looks old beyond his years. 

“We never… you know. We didn’t have a relationship like that. But we would fall asleep in each other’s arms to share warmth and he would look at me like I had the power to make everything better. I wish…” Harry’s voice falters and he takes a second before forcing himself to continue. “He was always getting himself into trouble, you know, into horrible situations, owing the wrong people money. And sometimes I was so angry at him I would leave him for a night on his own, but then the next morning I would always go back to find him, terrified that he might have died in the night.” Harry comes to a halt. Louis senses the need to urge him on.

“Is that what happened when he died?” he whispers. He thinks of himself and of Sebastian. Helpless people, lucky enough to be loved by Harry despite not deserving him. 

“No, it wasn’t that.” Harry shakes his head and closes his eyes against the memory, his voice barely more than a whisper. “He went with a client who was dangerous. This guy had been known to beat other boys to within an inch of their lives if they ever said anything out of turn or refused to do any of the fucked up shit he liked. The smart ones kept their mouths shut and just went along with it. The smarter ones didn’t go with him at all.” Harry’s eyes snap open and there is contempt there. “It was Greyson. He had tried to send me and I had refused, point blank to go. He said he would have to send someone else and I thought he was being a bit odd about the whole thing, even for him, but I remember just being relieved he wasn’t going to fight me on it. I had been out all day begging and when I got back Sebastian had gone. That was it.” 

“The next time I saw him was a few days later. Some of the other boys found him out behind some bins by the river when they were shooting up. They came and told me and took me to him. He had purple bruises around his neck, and all these scratch marks on his face, and his skin was grey. But even still I remember thinking he looked really lovely, almost as though he was smiling. Happy to finally have escaped. I cried for hours because I couldn’t join him, and then I made an anonymous phone call to the police from a phone box three miles away - I knew the police wouldn’t care enough about his case to look into it but still I didn’t want to give them a reason to find me – and after that I never cried again. His eyes were blue like yours. But never as bright,” he adds quietly, almost to himself. “After he died, I assumed I was going to die too, because I didn’t really have any reason to survive. I kept waiting for it to happen, but every morning I would wake up and still be alive.”

Louis finds his voice all of a sudden. He desperately needs to hear something happy, something which contains hope.

“How did you get out?”

“It happened so suddenly, sometimes I get scared it didn’t happen at all. I was in Greyson’s house. He had been sleeping with me, as he liked to do. It was really early and he was still asleep, completely out of it. He had been bragging the night before about some dodgy drugs deal he had done with one of his clients. The money was in this bag, which he had just left out in the kitchen. He got so fucked I don’t think he even had a chance to count the money. It was thousands… I mean, literally, must have been over a hundred thousand at least, maybe a lot more. So whilst he was sleeping, I took some of the bundles off the top. I didn’t know at the time just how much it was, I didn’t want to stop and count or anything, but it turned out it was sixteen thousand pound. I had no idea I had taken that much.” Harry pauses and blinks, shaking his head as though he still can’t believe what he is saying. 

“I stuffed some of it into my jeans and most into my boots, these massive, horrible Timberlands that a client had given me. I hated them, they were too big, and they were a reminder of… well… what I did. But they kept me warm that winter and turned out to be my escape. I woke Greyson up and said I had to go and see a client – I didn’t want him thinking I had snuck out, cos I thought that would look suspicious and the last thing I wanted was him following me. I also told him I had borrowed some cash from his wallet cos I needed money for the bus and some food. We had gotten to a point where I could just about get away with that as long as he was in a good mood and I sucked him off later. I thought it would make me seem even less guilty if I admitted to taking a little money. Thinking back on it now he probably never even knew how much was in the bag to begin with. But I was fucking terrified back then. I left his apartment and got a bus to the train station and I bought a train ticket to London. Even now I don’t know what it was that made me finally leave. I had been planning to die but I just saw an opportunity and… it was like I went into auto-pilot or something. I dunno. Basic survival instincts I guess.” He frowns for a moment, and Louis, heartbroken as he is, marvels at Harry. You are alive, you exist, you’re here, he thinks, and he wills his gratitude into the universe.

“I had never been to London before,” Harry continues, “but it seemed far away enough and big enough that I could get lost and never be found by Greyson or any of the others. The first thing I did was open a bank account. I gave a fake address, just looked one up in an address book in a library, and gave a fake name. I paid the cash in slowly over time so it looked like I was being paid for a job. I was so scared of anything looking suspicious. I just wanted to sink away and be lost forever. I found my flat. I remember that first night in the flat I could hardly believe I had a roof over my head and I hadn’t had to let someone fuck me for the privilege. But still, I lay awake at night for weeks terrified that Greyson would come banging on my door at any moment.” 

“The first thing I bought was my camera. I wanted to buy something expensive. Something I could only have dreamed of owning before. I chose the camera because it looked precious and fiddly. The sort of thing that would have been no good to someone living on the street. I had never taken any pictures before but I found it gave me a good reason to be in public and be anonymous. Have you noticed, people never look at the person behind the camera? Hold a camera up and they will all look at whatever you’re pointing it at. I just sort of blended in. Like a ghost. I don’t remember how I filled my days in those first months. They’re very black. I think I was still expecting to die. But then I got the job at the bakery. Just by going in one day and asking if they were hiring. You know it was the first job I tried for” – Harry smiles, for the first time in three hours – “and I got it. I thought the old ladies seemed nice, they reminded me of the friendly old ladies in Holmes Chapel…” His voice tails off and then silence. 

Louis’s head is spinning with the amount of information he is trying to process. He has so many more questions. He realises that at some point in this story, if Harry keeps talking, he himself will enter and he can’t quite connect this life, the life they have now, with the life Harry is describing. That they could exist on a continuous line breaks the illusion that Louis has desperately been clinging to, that Harry is simply relating the plot of a very fucked up, very depressing film. 

“You used a fake name?” He picks that question at random, out of the thousands floating in his head.

“Yeah,” Harry looks sheepish. 

“So you’re real name isn’t Harry?” he asks meekly. Suddenly Louis has the vertiginous sensation of being about to pull off the mask of a Scooby-Doo villain and find underneath it a John, or a Sam, or an Alex, with a completely different face and voice. Surprise, the face snarls, as Harry’s own beautiful face crumples to the floor and dissolves forever. 

Harry must sense Louis’ fear because in one sure, swift movement he shifts up to Louis and catches him up in a desperate embrace. 

“Oh Louis,” he breathes, and Louis is struck by how absurd it is, considering everything, that Harry should be the one comforting him. “Of course my name is Harry. I promise, I am me, I’m your Harry, nothing’s going to change that ok.” Louis nods fervently into Harry’s neck, and hugs Harry back just as tightly as Harry is holding onto him. 

After a few moments, Harry pulls away just enough to look at Louis. Thankfully he doesn’t shift away again, and now that he is here, thigh pressed against thigh, steadying hands around his waist, Louis begins to feel a little less lost. 

“Styles isn’t the name I was born with,” Harry explains, “I chose it when I came to London. It was a name I had spent years wishing was mine. You see, there was a lady in the village, when I was really small, after my mum first died, who was always really kind to me. Her daughter, Gemma, was a couple of years above me in school, but we used to live on the same street so we would play together sometimes and her mum, Anne her name was, she would always invite me in for lemonade and biscuits. She was so beautiful. I used to imagine that if my mum had lived they would have been best friends. I don’t think she liked my father very much.”

Louis holds his breath. He has never heard Harry mention a father before.

“Most people loved him, he knew how to be a real charmer in public when he wanted to be, but him and Anne didn’t seem to get along at all. He didn’t like me going over to hers. He would shout and yell at me that I was shitting all over my mother’s memory, that I was trying to replace her with that bitch down the road. Horrible stuff he would say, and then he would shout at me more for crying. I used to believe him. I was only six or seven, and I thought maybe he was right, that my mum would be looking down from heaven disgusted at me for trying to replace her. But then Gemma would come knocking for me and would bounce little pebbles on my window if my father lied and told her I wasn’t in. Sometimes Anne would come knocking herself and I would hear her voice from all the way in my bedroom and I would wish that I was brave enough to run down the stairs and into her arms, knowing my dad wouldn’t shout in front of her and not caring how much he would shout later. She was so lovely. She always smelled like apple pie.” He smiles a little at the memory. “So when I had to choose a name, I took hers.” 

“What happened to her?” Louis asks quietly, gently pushing a loose strand of hair behind Harry’s ear. 

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs sadly. “My father made us move when I was nine so I never saw her again. I used to fantasise about running away and going back to Holmes Chapel to find her. But by the time I actually did run away, she almost didn’t seem real. Like a half-remembered dream. Sometimes I would have nightmares that I would go back to Holmes Chapel and knock on her door and she wouldn’t remember me or she wouldn’t be the way I remembered her, or she would have moved house completely. Or she would have died. Like my mother did.”

“How did your mother die?” Louis asks in barely a whisper.

“She was hit by a car. Walking me home from nursery one day… just like that.” Harry’s voice cracks.

“I’m so sorry Harry.”

Harry blinks and doesn’t say anything for long minutes. Louis presses into him, leaning his head against his shoulder. He places a kiss at the base of Harry’s neck, just above his collar. Harry’s hand finds his and their fingers intertwine in Harry’s lap until Louis would not know which were his and which were Harry’s except for the swelling at Harry’s knuckles, cracked and purple from where he hit Greyson. It seems the obvious question to ask now, but Louis takes his time in asking it. He is sure he knows the answer. The words of Greyson are still ringing in his ears. 

_Pity your daddy didn’t fuck some sense into him too._

The universe is too cruel, too festering and stinking and evil a place, Louis thinks. Maybe he shouldn’t ask anything more tonight. It’s the early hours of the morning and he feels so drained he can’t imagine what Harry must be feeling. This already, is enough pain and heartache for an entire lifetime; he wants to leave it there. But this is not about him.

“Harry, why did you run away? What did your father do to you?”

Harry doesn’t move a muscle. For a moment he almost seems not to have heard. His eyes are glassy and far away when he answers. 

“He wasn’t always the way he became. He used to be nice I think. Maybe. Who knows. But after my mum died, he started drinking a lot, and he would yell and yell and hit me, and I would get bruises sometimes and then he would feel guilty about it…” 

“It started small. He would come into my room late at night when he thought I was asleep and I could tell even at that age, that he had been drinking and crying. He would sit on the edge of my bed and say all this stuff that I didn’t understand, about how he was sorry that he got mad at me but that it was my fault that he was the way he was, and then he would reach out in the dark and touch me. I don’t remember it properly. Just the idea of it. I remember the feeling of his hands on me. It was like being burnt. And there were these strange adult smells and sounds, movement in the darkness. As time went on it happened more and more and then one night, when I was ten years old – I remember that because it was the day after my tenth birthday and he had been so passed out drunk he had completely forgotten it – that night, it wasn’t just touching anymore.” 

“I think I blacked out. Or at least, that’s how I remember it. I just began to black everything out. Whole nights that I knew I hadn’t been sleeping. If my throat was sore I knew I had been screaming. I could still smell him in the morning, I knew that he was the reason I was in so much pain, yet my memory was always just black. It was the only way I could survive it. That and hating him. I hated him so much I used to tremble with it. I used to daydream about killing him. I used to imagine over and over, that I was throwing him in front of the car before it hit my mum, sacrificing him to save her. Then my mum would laugh and scoop me up, leaving his dead body mangled under the tyres, and we would go home and be happy together.” Harry chokes on his words. “Nobody in the rest of my life knew. I didn’t have friends at school. I did at first but they started to drop away as they realised I was weird. The teachers didn’t notice, or didn’t care. I don’t know. After five years of it I had had enough. I ran away. Manchester. I didn’t go far but I knew he wouldn’t come looking for me.” 

Louis can’t speak. He can hardly breathe. If he opens his mouth he thinks he might scream and never stop. Just scream and scream and tear everything apart, rip the world to shreds and destroy every last piece of it as punishment for what it has done to Harry. 

“The thing is Lou,” Harry looks Louis straight in the eye and Louis sees him through a blur of tears, “my childhood was what it was. I was desperately unhappy for most of it and I was raped and I was left for dead and everything was so bleak and black at times I wondered if I had died and gone to hell already. But it’s all in the past and that’s where it has to stay. It’s why I don’t talk about it. I’m not trying to be dishonest with you. I just can’t let my past be anything to do with me now. It nearly killed me before, so many times over, but it didn’t. Somehow it didn’t, and now I am finally living. Coming to London was the start, and meeting you has been like finally being born. Now I get to live and to be happy. I never thought I would be that lucky. Never in my wildest dreams.”

Harry is wiping away Louis’ tears, and then he is kissing them away, as Louis chokes back heart-wrenching sobs. 

“Harry,” he manages to steady himself enough to speak, but he still doesn’t know what to say. What can he say to take everything away? “If I could swap with you I would.”

Harry seems to understand the depth of Louis’ sincerity and looks horrified.

“I wouldn’t let you Louis.”

“I know. But I would do it anyway.”

Harry looks at him. Louis looks back. He realises he loves Harry even more than he did before. 

“I’m so sorry Harry.” 

He means to say more. He means to say everything in his heart. You’re such a wonderful, good person and you have suffered so much and you don’t deserve any of it. It’s horrible what he did to you. What they all did. It’s evil and I’m so so sorry that it happened to you, and it breaks my heart to think that I wasn’t there, I was somewhere else. If I could change anything I would, I would give anything, and it breaks my heart that I can’t. You didn’t deserve any of it. You deserve everything that’s good in this world and I promise you, with all my heart, that I’m going to make sure, from now on, that that is what you get. I love you so much it hurts and I will always love you and it will always hurt and I will never ever stop loving you. 

He tries to say it, as best he can through his tears. His words jumble and tumble over each other in a desperate outpouring. He means what he is saying with every inch of his being. He cups Harry’s face in his hands, and wills him to know the truth of his words. Harry’s wide, green eyes are flickering over Louis’ face. All at once his brow crumples like paper and the tears begin to spill down his cheeks. 

Half-a-decade’s worth of tears, long overdue. 

Louis pulls Harry down to lie on the bed, and buries his own tears in Harry’s curls. He holds his darling Harry as close to his heart as he can, and Harry cries and cries, huge shuddering sobs. Like a newborn baby. Washing away everything that came before. Emerging afresh. 

Harry’s tearful cries mingle with the dawn’s first birdsong. Louis imagines the people in Harry’s life, the parade of people who have abused him and spat him out. He lines them up in his mind’s eye, Harry’s father, Greyson, the man with the track marks, the faceless, nameless clients, his school teachers, the people who walked past him on the street and chose not to see him. Louis lines them all up like toy soldiers and then one by one, he crushes them under his fist. He grinds them into the earth until they are nothing but dust and then he blows them away. 

***

When Harry wakes the next morning, he feels the soft flutter of Louis’ breath against his neck before he has even opened his eyes. When he does, he rubs away the sleep and the dried tears. His eyes are stinging with how puffy and swollen they are, and the pillow below his cheek is still wet. He wonders if it’s possible that he cried in his sleep.

As he blinks and adjusts to the light he notices that Louis’ room looks different. It takes him a second to realise that the place is much tidier than usual and full of unlit candles. There are candles laid out in pretty little patterns along the desk, and the bedside table, the windowsill, in fact over every available surface. He hadn’t noticed anything last night. 

Louis wriggles against him and breathes heavily. 

“Morning beautiful,” he mumbles into the back of Harry’s neck. Harry smiles a small smile at the tickly sensation. The morning light and Louis’ warm, solid presence are filling up the empty spaces in him which last night left. He still feels exhausted and drained, but he also feels lighter. He has never before spoken his history aloud in such a way. He thought that telling somebody else would make it stick to him more, like the awful time he had been so desperate he had opened up to Greyson about his father, the first and last time he had told anybody until now. Instead, he finds that it feels just a little further away. It’s no longer trapped inside of him; he’s let it out, just a little. There is still so much more to be said between them but for now, this is a start and it is enough.

He turns in Louis’ arms until they are nose to nose. Louis’ bright blue eyes are crinkly, just the way Harry likes them. Yes, he definitely feels lighter. He nudges Louis’ lips with his own, teasing a half-kiss out of Louis, who smiles against him before opening his mouth up to let Harry in. When they break apart, Harry means to say thank you, but he isn’t quite sure how to word it yet, so instead he says,

“What’s with all the candles?”

“Huh?” Louis looks perplexed for a second. “Oh shit, the candles. I completely forgot.” He looks over Harry’s shoulder, around the room, and Harry could swear there is a faint blush on his cheeks. 

“They were for our date last night. I thought it would be nice to come back to candles and rose petals on the bed,” – just as Louis says it Harry spots a petal in his hair and as though by magic others start to appear against the sheets – “I wanted to do something special. Be romantic, you know.” 

Harry stares at Louis. He has no idea what he did to deserve him. But now that he has him, he’ll be damned if he’s going to lose him. He thinks of Anne and Gemma, he thinks of Sebastian and he thinks of Louis. This time, he thinks, this time… 

“Louis?”

“Yes Harry?”

“Do you want to see my blog?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only apologise for putting Harry through this but I promise from here on out it gets better. Please let me know what you thought. I love your comments and kudos so much, they are the reason that I have managed to write this much already (which I literally never thought I would do!) so thank you thank you so much! Until next time...


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is essentially the last chapter of this fic. The next chapter will be a shorter epilogue. This has been my first fic so I feel quite emotional posting this. I can't believe that I have actually seen it through, I started writing this ten months ago! Anyway, thank you so much for reading this far and I hope you enjoy...

Louis arrives at Dr Corden’s office ten minutes early so he sits on the steps outside and watches a group of builders across the road as they stand around a large crane wearing hardhats and drinking coffee. He leans back against the stone steps, basking in the tranquil buzz of the leafy London street. When ten o’clock comes around the door opens and he squints up, shielding his eyes from the bright June sun, already high in the sky. 

“Hello you,” says Harry, grinning down at him fondly. 

“Hey you, how was it today?” he asks, jumping up and dusting off his jeans. He rocks forward on his toes to place a gentle kiss against his boyfriend’s lips. 

“Fine, we talked about my father today.” Harry is silent for a beat and then he smiles, “Dr Corden says _hi_ by the way.”

“I say _hi_ back,” says Louis. 

“Yeah I know, I told him.”

“Thanks love.” Louis kisses him again just because he can. He can’t help but admire the slight tan of Harry’s shoulders, blissfully on show now that summer has finally arrived for real. 

“It’s weird, all this talking and stuff,” Harry muses as they set off down the street towards the Costa on the corner. “I feel like I have talked more in the past month than in the rest of my entire life.” 

Louis chuckles sympathetically and squeezes his hand. 

“It’s a good thing though right?” he asks tentatively, glancing up at Harry, whose hair is almost black against the bright blue of the sky. Harry nods and his curls seem to conduct the sunlight itself, as it bounces off them in a halo effect. 

It’s become a bit of a ritual these past few weeks. Louis meets Harry after his session and Harry meets Louis after his. They don’t talk very much about what they have each said to Dr Corden, just the occasional thought. Louis finds that it’s enough; just knowing that Harry understands without Louis having to explain it to him, knowing that Harry will be there to hold his hand no matter what. 

In line at Costa Harry gets a call. 

“Hi Barbara,” he mutters into his phone before stepping out of the queue. 

Louis throws little glances his way, keen to make sure it’s nothing bad and determined to throttle Margaret if so much as a budgie dies and takes Harry away from him on this, the most glorious of days. Louis has big plans for the two of them to lie in a park somewhere all afternoon and do nothing. 

By the time Harry returns Louis has ordered for the both of them. Harry smiles apologetically, slipping his phone back into his jeans, which, Louis feels certain, have become even tighter than when they first met. 

“Everything ok?” Louis asks, and Harry bites down a grin. 

“Er… yeah… actually, more than ok! That was Barbara. She said…” Harry blinks and shakes his head before continuing, “she said some guy came in and saw some of my photos on the wall and… he wants to buy them. All of them!”

“Oh my god!” Louis practically squeals as he hurls himself at Harry. “Oh my god Harry, that’s incredible! I’m so proud of you, congratulations.” He squeezes Harry tight and feels Harry squeeze back with a breathless “thanks”.

As they pull away Harry looks slightly punch-drunk. He shakes his head and looks down at Louis, eyes wide with disbelief. 

“That’s not all.”

“It’s not?”

Harry shakes his head again and his grin spreads until it seems to stretch beyond his ears. 

“Nope, it’s not. She said he also wants to meet me in person and discuss stuff.”

“Stuff? What stuff?”

“I don’t know, but Louis, she said that he works at a gallery. She can’t remember the name but…”

“Oh my god. Fucking hell Harry, this is incredible. You’re gonna be like the next… the next… shit I don’t know any famous photographers.”

“The next Ansel Adams?”

“Exactly, just like her! Oh my god, seriously, Harry,” they lock eyes, “this could be it. This could be your big break.”

“What? Nah… don’t be silly Lou,” Harry’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright with hopeful excitement, “do you really think?”

“I really do.” Louis nods vigorously, desperate to convey just how sincerely he is of the opinion that Harry is one hundred percent incredible and amazing and definitely destined for great things.

***

“So how’s everything going with Harry?” Liam asks a few days before he, Niall and Eleanor are due to graduate. Not that the topic has been much mentioned. Louis reckons they are each doing their utmost to keep his mind from it. If Louis hadn’t dropped out of uni, he would be graduating with them. 

“Good,” Louis smiles.

“Just good?”

“Ok fine, it’s amazing. Everything with Harry is amazing… you happy?” 

Liam laughs fondly and pokes Louis with his foot. 

“Yes.”

They are seated at opposite ends of the couch, ostensibly watching TV but not really. 

“How’s things with Zayn?” Louis remembers to ask a minute later. 

“Wonderful,” Liam is pretty much drooling. 

“Look at us Li, all loved up with proper boyfriends and everything. Who’d have thought it?” Louis is half-joking and half-deadly serious. “I mean to think, just a year ago…”

He falls silent and presumes that Liam too is remembering the empty shell of a human being that Louis had become this time last year. July had been his lowest point. It had been the point when he wasn’t sure he could go on. The fact that he did go on through that summer, he owes almost entirely to Liam. He hopes Liam knows that and he makes a silent vow to himself to make sure he never lets Liam forget it. 

“We’ve come a long way,” Liam nods, his eyes soft around the edges and warm with affection. “It’s almost like we’re proper grown-ups.”

Louis widens his eyes in mock-horror.

“Don’t say that Wendy, we’ll never grow up!”

Liam laughs and opens an arm out, inviting Louis to snuggle into his side. 

“Oh but I have a sneaking suspicion we just might.” Liam’s voice is soft and silly, and mournful all at once. “You know, the other day,” he continues tentatively, “Zayn mentioned something about him and me maybe moving in together, when the lease on this house is up in September.”

“Oh yeah?” Louis asks, staring down at the cuffs of his hoody sleeves. As always they are slightly too big for him and he picks at where the material hangs over his hands.

“Yeah… thinking of getting a little place not too far from here. Maybe a bit more central so that my commute isn’t too much of a bitch in the mornings. That’s assuming I even hear back from any of these internships I’ve applied to. I dunno, we’ll see. I think it would be nice though, living together.”

Louis nods against his side.

“It does sound nice.”

Louis breathes in the steady, familiar scent of Liam’s cologne and tries to settle the creeping fear in his stomach that has grown and grown each day that graduation has approached. Before, when he didn’t have anything or anybody to care about, the future hadn’t especially bothered him. If he thought about it at all he presumed it would be more of the same, the Regal, the pub, his house on Rowntree Avenue, trips to Dr Corden, on a perpetual loop forever. 

But now his friends are talking about moving on, and getting jobs and internships and even Harry has been seeing rather a lot of Mr Cowell, who, as it transpires, owns several galleries across London and is really rather well connected. Every time Harry returns from a meeting with him, his eyes are bright with a future he hardly dares to hope for. Louis is so happy for him, he can hardly contain his pride, and yet at the same time there is the sadness, behind his smiles, that maybe this will be the way it always is. Everybody racing ahead, brilliant and beautiful, and Louis at the side-lines, cheering them on until they are no more than dots on the distant horizon and his cheers are swallowed by the wind.

Maybe even now that Louis is so much better than he was, he still won’t ever be able to be enough for someone like Harry. He trusts Harry enough now, to know that Harry would never leave him for it. But still the future scares him. 

“What am I going to do Li?” he whispers. 

“You’re going to figure it out. I know you will Lou.” Liam hugs him tight. “You’ll find out what it is you want to do, and you’ll do it brilliantly. I know for sure.”

***

The inhabitants of 25 Rowntree Avenue come to the devastating realisation that if they want to spend one last evening all together it will have to be soon. Eleanor has an offer for a Masters in the US and Liam is through to the last round of interviews for no less than four internships, any one of which, if he’s successful, and Louis has a sneaking suspicion he will be, is liable to start at any point over the summer.

Niall jokes that he at least will be around to keep Louis company, but when he gets offered a month’s placement working at Abbey Road Studios he’s so overjoyed Louis can only find it in himself to feel a little hurt. 

And so it is, that at the end of July, Louis comes home from his afternoon shift at the Regal to find his housemates, along with Harry, Zayn and Ed all crowded into their living room and already tipsy on beer.

Louis makes a half-hearted attempt to catch up with the drinking but his beer hardly touches his lips for the amount of talking that he is doing. All at once he realises just how many happy stories from their two years in this house there are to tell and he finds that he wants to tell them. 

And he desperately wants to create more stories, not in this house, but some house, somewhere…

He watches Harry, laughing at something Niall has said, and leaning against Ed, brown curls mixing with brilliant red. He marvels at how wonderful things can become.

At one moment in the evening, long after the last pubs have closed and the last trains have run, they all find themselves sat in happy silence, drowsy from alcohol and too much pizza, each lost in thought. Louis is absentmindedly poking at his cheeks, which are aching from how much he has been laughing.

“You know something Lou?” Liam pipes up dreamily, and everyone turns to look at him. “I realised something.”

“Yeah?” Louis smirks. “Finally realised that even you can’t fight the moonlight?”

Zayn lazily flicks a bottle cap at Louis. Liam is shaking his head. 

“Nope. I realised, if it wasn’t for you none of us would be here.”

Louis frowns. Several heads turn to him.

“How do you figure that?” he asks. “It was El who found this house.”

“No silly,” Liam giggles, pink-cheeked from too much beer. “I don’t mean Rowntree Avenue, I mean all of us, here. It was you who brought us all together.” There is a general murmur of assent from the group. “You’re a bringer-togetherer of people!” he declares proudly.

“Huh?” Louis is thoroughly confused now.

“It’s true!” Niall pipes up before Liam has the chance to explain. “I met you at football and _you_ introduced me to these guys cos you needed a roommate for second year. Remember the day we met Li? I spilt ketchup all down your back and you didn’t realise until the end of the night.”

“That’s because nobody bloody told me!” Liam shakes his head in exasperation, but he is smiling at Louis. 

“And I met you through drama,” Eleanor chips in, “in first year, we did that god awful Dog’s Hamlet together, do you remember?” Louis nods and can’t help but smile. That _had_ been a terrible production. The director had been absolutely diabolical. 

“And then,” she continues, “when I pointed out that I thought your friend in the front row was cute, you thought it was a hilarious idea to get me to flirt outrageously with him for like two hours before you told me he was gay!”

Louis laughs at the memory.

“Oh yeah, sorry about that!”

“And I thought we were just making friendly conversation,” Liam shrugs and the others stare at him. 

“Very friendly,” Louis grins. “You are so oblivious Liam.”

“Heeey,” Zayn whines and pulls Liam into him, “don’t listen to him babe... although,” he shrugs and looks at the others, “if you are a little oblivious occasionally that’s more than ok with me. Means I got you instead.”

“Poor Eleanor,” Niall says mournfully, and he sounds so sincere he sends the group into a fit of giggles.

“Er… I think I’ve just about managed to get over it thank you Niall,” Eleanor says, trying to hide her blushing cheeks, but still she adds, “nobody mention this to Max.”

Liam reaches out to ruffle her hair fondly. “Maybe a bit late for that one.”

She scowls and they all laugh again.

“Going back to the whole Louis-being-the-glue-that-holds-us-together and all that jazz,” Zayn says, and Louis blushes, “it was the two of us who met at the Regal, so if it wasn’t for you I would never have met this one here.” He turns into Liam’s neck and does potentially the cutest face Louis has ever seen him do. 

“And if you hadn’t met Zayn at the Regal, then I wouldn’t have met any of you,” Ed adds, grinning round at them all. His eyes land on Harry. “Except for that curly-haired devil of course.”

Harry, who has been lazily sprawled out on the sofa, sends Ed a gleeful grin and then says, 

“And I wouldn’t have met any of you if I hadn’t found Louis in a toilet.” There is something about the way he says it which makes everyone burst into laughter. “Heeey,” Harry pouts. He doesn’t understand what’s so funny but he looks dazzlingly beautiful. 

“Shhh Harry,” Louis twists from his position on the floor and attempts to poke his boyfriend’s leg. “We don’t talk about the toilet incident.” Harry grabs his poking finger just before Louis can get it out of his grasp and once he has it, their fingers naturally entwine. 

“Actually,” Ed says thoughtfully, looking at Harry, “that’s not strictly true.”

“What do you mean?” They all turn to him.

“Well… when you think about it, you two would have met anyway. Because I didn’t know you had already met when I introduced you at the pub that time. Remember?” Of course Louis remembers.

They are all silent for a moment.

“So really,” Niall says, eyes wide with awe, “you two were always meant to meet.” He claps his hands excitedly. “It was destiny!”

Zayn makes a gagging noise and Liam shoves him. Ed groans and Eleanor coos. 

“Oh for goodness sake Niall,” Louis shakes his head and tries to bury his grin in the side of the sofa. All of his friends’ words have simultaneously made his heart swell and his cheeks burn. And Harry is tightening his grip on Louis’ fingers and looking at him with such pride that Louis wants to sing and dance and never stop. 

“We _will_ all stay in touch won’t we?” he asks instead, looking around at all their smiling faces.

“Do you want my email now or shall I give it to you later?” Liam says and they all burst into laughter again.

***

August, and the others are away. Harry and Louis have the house all to themselves. They both take a week off work and spend it lounging around in bed or in the park or at one of the many new galleries Harry has recently been introduced to. This all in lieu of an actual holiday away, which neither of them can afford.

It’s a happy week, punctuated by moments of quiet pain and relief. Like pulling plasters. Harry is still learning to talk. Even now, after three months, he is still, slowly but surely unravelling his story for Louis. 

It is during this week that Harry finds himself sprawled on the sofa, _his_ sofa, with Louis lying on top of him, languishing in the balmy evening air wafting through the open window.

"What was it like?" Louis' low voice penetrates the half-light and Harry knows immediately how he needs to answer today. It's a conversation they have both been putting off. Harry wants to have it though. He is finally ready. 

"It's like your body isn't your own. It’s a commodity, up for sale. At least, that's how I thought of it.” He inhales sharply. “Detachment. It was all about detachment. It’s an art I pretty much perfected. I would go somewhere else in the deepest furthest reaches of my mind and they could be fucking me, beating me up...both. It didn't matter because I was somewhere else. I was with Gemma in her garden in Holmes Chapel and Anne was watching us from the window."

He sighs and is silent for a moment.

"But I suppose that also isn't the whole truth. That makes it sound like I don't remember the hair in their nostrils and the dirt in their fingernails… I do. Their stinking breath which usually smelt of stale vodka. The… the noises they made. No matter how much I tried, I could never fully escape the reality. Sometimes it suddenly comes rushing back to me and it makes me want to put my hands over my ears and scream just to block out their wheezing."

He grits his teeth against the memory of bile.

"Everything felt disgusting and grotesque all the time. As though the world had been coated in a thick layer of slime. It made me hate myself. I used to want to peel my own skin off. Occasionally they would let me shower afterwards, if they had even been willing to take me back to theirs in the first place, that is. Not just do it in some alley somewhere. Sometimes I couldn't wash for days after. But either way it wasn’t that… it was the shame that clung to me constantly.”

He closes his eyes. His voice is low and there is a bitter note of pain laced into his words.

"I have no idea how many of them there were. Hundreds maybe. Or maybe it wasn't so many, it just felt it. It was all a much of a muchness after a while. Your body is up for sale, the highest bidder gets it.” He lets out a sad huff of laughter and concentrates on the heavy, warm weight of Louis’ body, his gentle touch. “All of that stuff though... well… it pales into comparison compared to what _he_ did. It’s like… I kind of thought of myself as road kill. Like a dead deer on the side of the road. The first car was the one that did the damage. Everyone else is just leaving tyre marks." 

He falls silent. The sun has well and truly set and outside the first stars are visible through the window, winking at Harry through the glass. The same stars I used to lie in the gutter and stare at, he thinks. He feels Louis' small hand curl in his larger one, and trace the lines of his palm with the gentle pad of his fingertip. 

It's so small. This touch between them, hidden from the cruel blinking eye of indifferent stars. We are in love, he thinks. This is our rebellion. 

Somewhere outside the window, behind the buildings on the far side of the street, a firework goes off. Louis starts out of Harry’s arms, and looks up smiling in surprise. He looks so like a child, Harry wonders if this is the universe’s way of starting everything over. Just at that moment another one goes off and Louis scrambles up on his knees, pulling Harry up with him, and leans over the back of the sofa to stare out of the huge sash window. He opens it all the way and sticks his head out. Harry stares at him in awe and watches as yet another firework goes off, showering golden rain onto the London skyline. He sees it reflected in Louis’ eyes. 

“I wonder who is having fireworks at this time of year?” Louis whispers, as they budge closer together. 

“Dunno,” Harry smiles, and kisses Louis at the corner of his eye where it crinkles under his lips. Louis turns and catches Harry’s lips in a deep kiss. When he pulls away his eyes are glassy and he is looking up at Harry in awe. 

"I don't know how you survived it. I don't think I would have been able to cope like you did. You're so strong." 

Harry shifts down so that he is leaning against the back of the couch, one arm wrapped around Louis. He frowns in thought and speaks slowly. 

"You would, you know. In fact, you did.” Louis blinks at his words and something like realization seems to cross them. Harry looks out across the black city, bejeweled with a thousand white squares from a thousand windows just like theirs, skyscrapers sharp against the glittering sky. “That's what people do. You did it. I did it. We cope and we deal with shit because that's the only way to survive. I've been surviving for years, it's just instinct." He turns to stare intently into Louis' eyes. "You've made me want to actually live."

Louis’ breath catches and he takes a moment to reply. 

"Harry, you saved me. I felt like I wasn't coping at all. I was barely surviving. You gave me myself back. You gave me a reason to live."

"You gave me a life."

The words ring out long after they have fallen silent. Louis moves into Harry’s arms and exhales deeply, and Harry smiles at the flutter that he feels on his cheek. Harry wonders if this is what dying is like. This lightness, like everything is finally past, everything is behind him and the darkness is gone. Perpetual dawn. If Heaven exists it surely isn't as blissful as this. 

Harry knows that his breath tickles the sensitive spot just below Louis’ ear, and when he feels Louis’ eyes crinkle and the curve of his lips curl upward, he can’t help but cup his jaw in his hand and turn his face towards him, placing soft, urgent kisses against the corners of his mouth, his cheek bones, his eyes. Louis’ eyelids flutter underneath Harry’s mouth but he keeps his eyes closed, bringing his hands up to paw at Harry’s back, drawing him closer, as though willing him to carry on. Harry does, placing each kiss carefully and reverently, not wanting to leave any part of Louis unkissed.

***

Louis opens his dazed eyes, still tingling from Harry’s soft kisses, and looks up at his boyfriend through dark lashes as another firework bursts into a litany of white, blue, gold and green. It seems to Louis as though the fireworks are just for them. 

The way the city lights outside the window are dusting Harry’s porcelain skin in gold. The way his pupils are blown wide, and his lips are half-parted asking to be kissed. Louis looks at them in awe. Harry’s lips. Harry’s deep pink lips which, despite all his sorrows, are never far from a smile and which utter words that have made Louis feel himself again. Louis licks his lips hungrily before pressing them against Harry’s own.

He pushes his tongue into Harry’s mouth, suddenly frantic, desperate to drink Harry in, to taste him, to smell him, to be completely overwhelmed by him. Harry responds in kind, urgently chasing Louis’ tongue. He lets out a small moan, and Louis’ lips part further in a satisfied smile, as he shifts his weight until he is almost on his knees, towering over Harry, pushing him back into the couch cushions. 

“Hey,” Harry pants breathlessly between kisses, “come here.” He tugs needily at Louis’ hips and Louis immediately complies, clambering eagerly across Harry to straddle him properly. They kiss and they kiss and when Louis has to pause for air, Harry runs his tongue along the underside of Louis’ jaw. He pauses at a place just by Louis’ adam’s apple and sucks on the skin, using his teeth to nibble gently at the spot before smoothing it back over with his tongue. Louis leans his head back in delight, twisting his fingers desperately into Harry’s curls. They’re bodies are pressed up as close as possible, yet still Harry’s hands pull Louis towards him, and still Louis clings more closely to Harry, wanting to crawl into him until they are one and the same. 

At that thought Louis searches for Harry’s mouth again, tugging on his curls to bring his face back up. For a second, Louis finds himself utterly mesmerised. Harry’s eyes are glassy and full of want, and his breathing is heavy and ragged. Louis has only a second to register just how breathtaking Harry is, before he crashes his lips against Louis’ once again. He paws at Louis’ t-shirt, his fingers creeping underneath the hem, feeling flesh, as more fireworks shoot into the sky and burst.

Louis pushes his hips into Harry’s and realises that Harry is hard. With a bolt of energy he feels the throb of his own growing erection. He is hard. Oh god. He is hard and this time, it’s not a blowjob that he’s after. The thought alone makes him harder. He shifts his hips experimentally. Harry lets out a small gasp, before he responds by pushing his hips upwards and licking still deeper into Louis’ mouth. Louis can feel his fully hard cock now straining against his jeans, and he feels a hot pulse low in his belly. He grinds down against Harry, desperate for more contact and Harry’s body replies eagerly, thrusting upwards to meet the movement of Louis’ hips in small, urgent circles, their lips never once parting. 

They pant into each other’s mouths, Louis’ hands tangle tightly in Harry’s hair and he gives a soft tug, which sends a shiver vibrating through Harry’s body. 

“Oh my god Louis,” Harry breathes frantically, gripping Louis’ waist, guiding the pace of their hips together, “I want you so badly.” He catches Louis in another kiss, biting lightly on his bottom lip, moaning deeply. Louis lets out a gasp.

“I want you too Harry.” 

At the sound of Louis’ cracked response, Harry moans again, his hands reaching further up Louis’ t-shirt until his thumbs brush his small, hard nipples. Louis presses his cock down harder into Harry’s, feeling a wet patch of pre-come forming underneath his jeans. Suddenly he can’t bear the material between them. He wants to lay himself out bare for Harry to touch and to have and to kiss and explore. So he sits back on his heels, just long enough to pull his t-shirt over his head. Harry holds his breath, staring. He spreads his huge hands across Louis’ chest, thumbing over his nipples before he dips his head forwards. Louis lets out a strangled moan as Harry tongues at his too-sensitive nipples. He feels weak and exposed under Harry’s touch, yet invigorated too in a way which he loves more than he ever thought he could. 

He realises with a rush of emotion which feels at once terrifying and the most natural thing in the world, that he wants to give himself completely and utterly to Harry. He wants Harry to open him up, and fill him up, and to make him feel whole again. He wants it to so much that his body burns with the thought of it. 

“Harry,” Louis breathes into his tangled curls, “Harry?” 

Harry tears his tongue away from Louis’ chest long enough to look up and focus his dazed eyes on Louis’ lips, on his nose, on his eyes. 

“Louis?” he asks softly, shifting his hips slightly where his cock must be straining uncomfortably hard against the zip of his jeans. 

“Harry, I want you.” 

As Louis speaks the words aloud he feels his voice become steadier and more sure. He inhales deeply and presses his forehead against Harry’s, his hands around his neck, lips a fraction of an inch apart. 

“I want to be with you in every possible way. I want to feel you inside me. I want to feel myself around you. I want to let you in. I want…” Louis trails off, unable to explain this newfound desperation. This urge which permeates every fibre of his being and makes him cling to Harry as though he is gasping for oxygen. “I want to make this into something beautiful.” 

If anybody will understand him, he knows Harry will.

Harry looks up at him in awe, his mouth slack but his eyes bright, searching Louis’ face. Louis lets him search. He knows Harry is looking for signs that maybe he doesn’t entirely mean what he is saying, but Louis has never been more certain of anything in his life and he wants to let Harry see that for himself. 

After several seconds in which neither of them moves an inch, besides their heaving chests and ragged, deep breathing, Harry suddenly smiles so brightly that Louis wants to laugh with the beauty of it. 

“I want that too. If that’s what you want Louis, then I want that too.” He brings his cheek up to rub against Louis’, lips brushing his ear as he whispers in a soft growl which sends shivers down Louis’ spine. “I want all of you that you’re willing to give and I want to give you all of myself.” 

Louis lets out a sharp breath of air and his hands still in Harry’s hair. For a second they stay like that, unmoving, each lost in the other, and then slowly, ever so slowly, Louis gets up off of Harry’s lap, holding out his hand for Harry to take. His legs feel like jelly and his lips feel swollen and bruised and yet he has never felt more sure of himself than he does in this moment. Harry eyes him greedily.

“God, you’re sexy,” he murmurs before taking Louis’ hand and hauling himself up. They stumble towards Louis’ bedroom hand in hand and Louis is suddenly reminded of that first night, when Harry had been sleeping on the sofa, and Louis had been so nervous about asking Harry to sleep in his bed with him. Louis supposes he is nervous now as well although he hardly registers it.

When they reach Louis’ bed, he turns on the bedside lamp, which bathes Harry’s face in a pale orange glow. They seem to have left their haste somewhere between the living room and here. The room is still. Louis looks at Harry. This moment will never happen again, he thinks. It feels too big to put into words so instead he says,

“It’s not exactly candles but…”

“It’s very romantic,” Harry smiles as he catches Louis’ chin in his hand and places a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. He keeps hold of Louis’ chin and suddenly his expression becomes earnest, the furrow of his brow exaggerated by the lamplight. “I want this to be special for you Louis. You know that right?” Louis nods reassuringly but Harry isn’t done. “Honestly I mean it. Promise me, if you change your mind at any point, or have even the tiniest doubt you will let me know?” Harry’s eyes are wide and concerned. Louis nods again but Harry still looks unsure. Louis marvels at him and at how, after everything that he has suffered and endured, he can be so utterly selfless. 

Suddenly something clicks for Louis. This isn’t just about Harry reassuring Louis. This is about Louis reassuring Harry; reassuring Harry that he will be honest with him, that he won’t let him do anything he doesn’t want, reassuring him that he isn’t his father. 

“Harry, I want this, I promise,” Louis begins.

“But…”

“No buts. I want this more than I have ever wanted anything,” Louis pauses for a moment thoughtfully. “If, and it’s a big if, I change my mind I promise… no, I _swear_ to you that I will tell you. Ok?” He smiles encouragingly into Harry’s eyes and reaches up on his toes to plant a kiss to Harry’s mouth, sealing his words. “You have to trust me,” he adds as he pulls away.

“I do trust you Lou,” Harry murmurs, stroking his hands down Louis’ arms until he takes both of Louis’ hands in his own and squeezes gently. “And you trust me too?”

“More than anything.”

"I want you to know, I haven’t done this in years, not since… well, you know, and I’ve… I've never had sex with somebody I loved before." Harry’s voice is low and earnest. "In fact, I’ve never even had sex on my own terms.”

The corners of Louis' lips turn up and he hopes it's enough to displace the sadness he feels deep in his core. He brings up a hand to brush Harry’s cheek.

"Me too.”

Harry nods. Louis rocks up on his toes and kisses him. Harry closes his eyes and catches Louis' lips just as he is about to pull away, needing more. 

"You know what Dr Corden says?" Louis whispers softly as they break apart. 

"What does Dr Corden say?" Harry asks, his voice barely audible above the pounding in Louis’ ears.

"Dr Corden says that rape isn't sex at all. In fact it's completely different.”

Harry nods and Louis hopes he understands everything that Louis wants him to understand. 

"I like that way of looking at it. Maybe… maybe sex is about the other stuff… the whole experience. About love. About honesty maybe?” Harry takes a deep breath before continuing. “After you told me about what happened to you, and you were so brave and so honest about it… I dunno. It felt wrong all of a sudden. Like, I mean, if we had had sex when you had been honest and I hadn't, it felt like we wouldn't have been equal somehow."

"So that's why you wanted us to wait?" 

Harry nods.

"That, and I really did want to make sure you were one hundred percent ready. But I think, looking back now… I was scared too." Harry’s eyes are bright green in the lamplight. 

"It's fair enough that we're both scared, seeing as how neither of us have actually had proper sex before." Louis smiles reassuringly. Harry lets out a small huff of air, an almost laugh and nods. It takes Louis a second to notice the single glistening tear trailing down Harry’s cheek. 

"Ok. We’re each other's firsts." Harry speaks it to the universe, as though dictating his terms. Louis grins and nods his agreement, brushing the tear away. 

With that Harry seems reassured and reinvigorated, and he kisses Louis again, tilting his head and parting his lips to draw Louis in. He places a hand on Louis’ hip and gently guides them towards the bed. Once they are both lying down, legs tangled together, Louis allows his fingers to slip under the hem of Harry’s shirt, and feel the tense flutter of his abs. 

“Off,” he murmurs, pulling lamely at the shirt. Harry laughs and shifts onto his knees. As he pulls the shirt over his head, it ruffles his curls, which are already matted by sweat and Louis’ fingers. Louis laughs at him and Harry pulls a funny face. Louis has never seen anything more gorgeous. He brings his hands up to trace the sweeping wings of the swallows on Harry’s chest, and Harry watches him intently. 

“I like these tattoos best,” Louis whispers. 

“You do?” Harry’s voice is as rough as gravel and his pupils are blown wide with lust. 

“Yeah.” Louis nods and then, “wait one sec.” He rolls over to reach into the drawer of his bedside cabinet, pulling out a condom packet and a small bottle of lube. His hands are shaking with anticipation. 

“Come here,” Harry says softly, and kisses Louis’ trembling fingers.

Then Harry gently rolls them over, limbs entwined, until Louis is lying beneath him, encased by his strong arms, safe and warm. Suddenly Harry kisses him fiercely and grinds down until their cocks are brushing against each other under the fabric of their jeans. Louis moans, and pushes up to match Harry, quickening the pace of their kisses. Louis wants the jeans off. He wants them off more desperately than he has ever wanted anything off anyone, so he runs his fingers down Harry’s spine until he reaches the waistline of his jeans. Harry’s mouth never once leaves Louis’ skin as his hips shift upwards, allowing enough space for Louis to pull his jeans down his thighs. He giggles at Louis’ moan of frustration as his too-tight jeans get stuck halfway down his legs and have to be kicked the rest of the way off. 

Louis can make out the outline of Harry’s erection through his boxers as he comes back down to kiss Louis once again. Harry’s own hands deftly tug at Louis’ jeans and he pushes them down. For a second Louis holds his breath, waiting for panic to set in. With a rush of relief, he realises that it never comes. He kicks off his jeans, which land in a heap on top of Harry’s and can’t help but let out a small laugh as he kisses Harry once again, the feel of their bare thighs brushing against each other, their cocks separated by only thin material, sending a fresh wave of warmth and want through his body. 

Harry too is smiling into their kisses now, which are deep and fast and desperate and playful all at once. Louis quickly realises that Harry is waiting to take his queues from him. When Louis quickens the pace of their kisses, Harry follows. When Louis grinds his hips up harder into Harry’s, Harry pushes down still harder against Louis and with a rush of gratitude Louis realises that this is right. This is how he needs it. Harry understands him better than he understands himself.

He moves his hand to take hold of Harry’s cock. Harry gasps in response and stifles a moan into Louis’ mouth. Louis strokes firmly three, four, five times, before impatience gets the better of him and he pushes down Harry’s boxers, letting his swollen cock spring free. He wraps his hand around it as best he can and begins to pump, swiping his thumb over the tip which is already slick with pre-come. Harry buries his head in Louis’ neck as a desperate gasp escapes him. He sends a quick questioning glance, waiting for Louis’ nod, before he hooks his thumbs in Louis’ boxers and pulls them down, flinging them off the bed. He sits back on his heels, and seems to drink Louis in. Louis can feel his own throbbing cock, now exposed, swollen and hard, resting heavily against his stomach. He can feel his body tingle in anticipation under Harry’s gaze, burning to be touched.

As though Harry has read his mind, he leans back down. His breath is shallow and his lips are flushed, glistening and slightly bruised. The feel of stomach against stomach, cock against cock, thigh against thigh is electrifying. Currents run between them as they gaze into each other’s eyes. Slowly, Louis bends his knees, drawing his legs up and apart to give Harry more room to settle in between. After a beat in which time seems slowed, Harry brings a tentative hand down to stroke at Louis’ hole. The intimacy of the action is overwhelming. Louis shivers when he feels it. His stomach flutters and a spark of desperate need pulses through him. Harry begins to press, gently, ever so gently, until Louis starts to feel himself opening up. 

“You ok?” Harry pants, never once dropping his gaze. Louis nods, digging his fingertips into Harry’s sides, pulling him closer, desperate for friction against his leaking cock. “Hang on.” Harry says, sitting back just long enough to grab the bottle of lube from the nightstand and slather a generous amount onto his fingers. Louis’ heart is pounding in his ears. He watches in awe as Harry slowly lowers himself down the bed until his mouth is in line with Louis’ cock. He noses at it for a moment, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. “So pretty,” he whispers and his breath tickles the base. And then, in one deft move he sucks Louis into his mouth. The feel of his warm wet tongue, coupled with the sight of his full pink lips, his hollowed cheekbones, is almost too much to take. Louis throws his head back against the pillow, letting incoherent gasps of pleasure escape him. 

“Oh my god, Harry, oh god,” is all he can say, over and over, as Harry takes him down almost completely. When he feels Harry’s finger, cold and wet with lube, push gently into him he can no longer form words. He squeezes his eyes shut, and concentrates on relaxing. The feel of Harry’s finger inside him is incredible, and it’s not long before Louis finds himself desperate for more. 

“More,” he manages to gasp out, looking back down at Harry, whose cheeks are flushed and who is looking straight up at Louis through his dark lashes. He pulls off of Louis long enough to gasp for air. 

“You sure?” he asks. Louis nods frantically, bringing his hands to grip in Harry’s curls. 

“Yes.”

Harry hums hazily, licking a slow stripe up Louis’ cock before taking it into his mouth once more, and Louis’ head hits the pillow again as Harry pushes a second finger inside of him. Louis has no idea what exactly Harry is doing, but the way his fingers are moving inside him, stretching him gently, opening him up, feels amazing. And his mouth around Louis’ cock. It’s so so much and it’s incredible. Absolutely incredible but… oh… it’s nothing to this. This white hot burst of pleasure which pulses through Louis when Harry hooks his fingers more deeply into him and brushes a spot that has Louis seeing sparks. He lets out a strangled cry, almost a sob, and grips more tightly onto Harry’s curls, causing him to moan deeply, sending a hum of vibration down Louis’ cock. Harry brushes the spot again and again, and Louis can hardly think straight. He feels completely undone already, and he reckons he could come like this, here, with Harry’s face between his legs, with Harry’s fingers inside him, seeing stars. 

But he doesn’t want to come like this. He wants all of Harry. He wants to feel Harry inside him and he wants Harry to come inside him and at that thought, he tugs desperately on Harry’s hair. Harry looks up at him, through dark, glassy eyes. His lips are flushed and swollen and shiny with saliva and Louis’ pre-come. His forehead is sweaty with matted curls plastered against it. Louis has never seen anything more stunning. 

“I’m ready,” he says after he has taken a second to drink in the sight. Despite his breathlessness his voice is steady. Harry doesn’t respond for a second, but merely stares. Then suddenly he springs into action, dragging himself back up until once again their faces are level. He kisses Louis intently, panting into his mouth and biting hard on his bottom lip before reaching across to the nightstand and grabbing the condom. He tears the packet with his teeth, sitting back on his heels to roll it onto his cock. Louis vaguely registers how much bigger Harry’s cock is than his fingers, and he waits for the panic to come. It doesn’t. This is Harry. Harry, who has just opened him up so tenderly and so reverently. Louis knows in his deepest heart of hearts that there is no way Harry will hurt him. No way he could. He’s Harry. 

Harry lines himself up, against Louis’ hole, and locks his eyes with Louis’. He watches him carefully, perhaps waiting for a sign that Louis has changed his mind. When he doesn’t see any, he smiles, the most beautiful smile Louis has ever seen and slowly pushes forward. 

“Remember to relax,” Harry says softly, as Louis feels himself stretching around him. Louis exhales deeply, focusing all his energy on relaxing and has to close his eyes as he feels Harry pushing deeper and deeper, gently and slowly, until they are locked together. He can feel a kind of burn, but it’s nothing like before. It doesn’t really hurt. In fact it feels good. He feels full and whole, and when he opens his eyes and looks into Harry’s own, he feels as though he has come home. 

“How is it?” Harry pants. His arms are shaking slightly with the effort of holding himself still. 

“Good.” Louis pants. “Amazing.” His breathing is ragged and the effort of speaking is proving almost too much. “You can… move,” he manages to gasp out. “Please move.” 

Harry nods, and pulls slowly back before gently pushing forward once again. Louis clings onto him, digging his fingertips hard into Harry’s hips. Harry does it a few more times, and leans forward, catching Louis’ lips in his own as he picks up pace slightly. Suddenly, with one particularly deep thrust, he hits the same spot as before, and Louis’ vision almost blacks out. He cries out in pleasure, arching his back and digging his fingers so hard into Harry that he is sure he will leave a mark. Harry moans, and thrusts harder, hitting the spot again and again. Even their kisses have become incoherent now, as they pant into each other’s mouths. 

“Oh. Lou…oh my god….ugh…” Harry gabbles into Louis’ mouth as he pushes into him over and over. “You’re so…beautiful…ahh… god… I… love… you… ahh…” Louis is responding in kind, but he doesn’t register the words which are coming out of his mouth. Except for one. 

“Harry.”

In that moment, Louis’ whole world is Harry. The smell of Harry’s matted curls, the taste of Harry’s salty skin, the feel of Harry inside him, stretching him and filling him up, the sound of Harry’s low voice and ragged breathing in his ears. Everything is so wonderfully, beautifully Harry, it’s overwhelming. Louis squeezes his eyes shut and feels a single tear roll down his cheek, as he holds Harry tight to him, wrapping his arms around him, pulling Harry deep inside him as though his life depends on it. He feels as though it does. 

Louis’ cock is sliding between their stomachs, the friction building and building as an intense heat pools in his stomach. Harry’s lips are in his hair, on his cheeks, kissing away his tears. Louis can feel himself getting close, as Harry’s thrusts become even more frantic and their breaths become louder and louder. 

“I love you,” Harry breathes against Louis’ cheek, burying into him so deep that the edges of Louis’ vision blur, “I want you to come baby. I want to see your beautiful face when you come.” And just like that he feels himself pulled over the edge, his orgasm racing towards him. One more deep thrust from Harry and Louis whites out, coming hard with a cry between their stomachs. A second later Harry squeezes his eyes tight shut and almost sobs, as he comes inside of Louis, his thighs trembling. Louis watches in awe as Harry slowly opens his eyes, dazed, panting heavily, shaky and glistening with sweat. As their eyes find each other, Harry smiles down at Louis and lets out a small laugh. Louis realises his own smile must be just as wide. 

“Wow,” he says after a few moments, in which the world seems to spin. 

“Wow,” Harry agrees. As his breathing becomes calmer, he gently pulls out of Louis, who winces slightly. He feels empty all of a sudden, and he aches a bit, but it feels nothing like before. He is so content and happy and so full of love he feels that his chest might burst. He watches as Harry pulls off his condom and wrinkles his nose slightly as he chucks it at the wastepaper bin in the corner of the room. Louis laughs. Harry joins in and they laugh and laugh, at what exactly, it’s not clear. Louis just feels so happy. Happier than he ever thought he would get to be. 

Harry lies back down next to Louis, who curls into him and winces slightly as the movement reminds him of his poor aching bum. 

“You ok?” Harry looks suddenly worried. 

“Yeah,” Louis grins reassuringly, “I just reckon I’m gonna feel this in the morning.” When Harry still looks concerned he adds, “which is a pretty hot thought, don’t you think?” Harry’s face relaxes.

“Yeah, it is,” he smirks. But then his expression turns serious once again. “But seriously Louis, you would tell me if anything wasn’t ok right? Like if I hurt you or anything…?”

“Harry,” Louis says firmly, bringing his hand up to push the curls out of Harry’s worried green eyes, “it was more than ok. It was incredible. You were incredible. I promise, that’s the truth.” He says it with absolute sincerity, desperate for Harry to believe him. “I love you,” he adds before pecking Harry on the mouth. 

“I love you too, Louis,” Harry says. At last he looks truly reassured. 

“I think Niall’s right.” Louis says after a few minutes, in which they lie contentedly in each other’s arms, Harry’s cheek resting heavily against Louis’ chest. “We were meant to be, you and me.”

“Mmm,” Harry hums happily. “I was meant to meet you in that toilet.” Louis pinches his side.

“I thought I made it clear we don’t mention the toilet.”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, stifling a giggle. They fall silent again for a few moments and when Harry next speaks his voice is quiet and grave, reverent, as though trying not to let his breath disturb the air between them. 

“We’ve both experienced such horrible things but… it’s those things which have led us to each other.” He traces the pad of his thumb gently over Louis’ heart as he speaks. 

“That’s true,” Louis whispers into his curls. _You suffered more_ he begins to think, before he catches himself, Dr Corden’s warning about making it into a competition ringing in the back of his mind. “We’ve both suffered and yet now we’re both stupidly happy. Aren’t we?” he adds.

“We are.” Harry looks up at him and then frowns in thought. 

“I don’t think…” he says slowly, “I can ever be ok with what happened to me. It will always be a part of me and that part of me will always ache. And I definitely don’t think I could ever bring myself, even now considering everything, to say I’m glad that it happened or anything like that, because of course I’m not, but…” he sighs, “it’s happened now. It’s done and it’s in the past. And I think, if I had the choice to go back and change it… if that meant even a tiny chance that I might risk losing you, I wouldn’t.”

“Maybe that’s why we don’t get a choice in these things,” Louis whispers.

“Maybe.” Harry places a soft kiss against Louis’ chest. His hand stills over Louis’ heart. “Maybe it’s like, I dunno, like the universe is making amends somehow. Making things right by giving us to each other. Does that sound crazy?”

“Not at all,” Louis shakes his head fondly and then stifles a yawn. He feels as though he could sleep for a week but at the same time he wants to be able to wake Harry up with breakfast in bed tomorrow so… 

He closes his eyes, snuggling deeper into the sheets so that his lips are level with Harry’s nose. He places a kiss there and feels the beating pulse of their two hearts side by side, catching each other’s rhythms until they become one beat.

“M’gonna sleep now,” he whispers around another yawn. 

“Ok. Goodnight darling Louis,” Harry whispers back. “Sleep soundly.” 

Louis smiles. He plans on doing exactly that. 

***

As they fall asleep their fingers entwine, like the final pieces of a jigsaw slotting into place. Harry dreams of blue. Pure, deep, rushing blue, the blue of oceans, the blue of sun-filled skies, the blue of eyes. Outside, the city sleeps peacefully under a night sky which would have been dark, except for the stars and the fireworks.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue

Packing is as stressful as ever and as usual they have left it to the last minute. In his haste Harry accidentally manages to run into a bookcase and mess up an entire shelf’s worth of books and photo frames. 

“Jesus Harry! What was that? Are you alright?” comes Louis’ shout from upstairs.

“M’fine,” Harry calls back.

One of the frames has fallen to the floor. In it is a picture which one of the others, Niall maybe, had taken of him and Louis at a picnic. It had been their first summer together. Harry is leaning into Louis who is laughing brightly, and the sun is hitting their faces, illuminating their youth. How young we were, Harry marvels. He places the frame back on the shelf next to a poetry book which, when held at the spine, falls open naturally at the place where Louis’ handwritten declaration of love is still pressed between its pages. When Harry thinks of it he takes the book off the shelf just to look. The note is slightly faded with time. Louis’ handwriting hasn’t changed one bit, Harry thinks to himself.

He smiles and thinks of this morning, when he had woken up to soft lips and crinkly eyes. 

“Happy anniversary love” Louis had whispered and Harry had giggled because today is the august anniversary. The one that’s just for them. 

“Can you believe it’s been thirteen years?” he had said gruffly, snuggling deeper into the sheets and luxuriating in the feel of Louis’ hand which had traced a determined line down his stomach. “Our sex life is officially a teenager!”

They had both come twice before breakfast. 

They buy the magazine at the airport. The article is longer than Harry had expected. And far, far kinder than he had dared hope for. He thinks he looks a bit strange in the picture they ended up using, although Louis insists he looks hot. 

“I mean, I definitely would, is all I’m saying…” he shrugs, poring over the magazine for the millionth time that day.

“Considering you already _do_ I think that’s a pretty redundant statement,” Zayn quips, peering over Louis’ shoulder. “But to be fair Haz, you don’t exactly look bad…” he takes off his sunglasses to peer again before raising his eyebrows suggestively at Harry, earning himself a not-quite-playful smack from Liam. 

“Give it here,” Niall grabs it and scowls. “Your hair looks weird in it.”

Harry frowns and feigns affront. 

“You’ve always been jealous of my hair Horan!”

“Wow, this bit is lovely,” Eleanor interrupts, pointing down at the last paragraph on the page. “ _Styles is the kind of photographer whose portraits not only show us the individual characters of his subjects, their strength and their manifest vulnerability, but also the tragedy and the beauty of their universal human condition…_ ”

Harry, whose cheeks feel as though they are on fire, makes to grab at the magazine but the others bat him away. He looks to Louis pleadingly but Louis merely grins and sticks his tongue out. Harry makes a mental note to punish him mercilessly in bed later for his disloyalty. Maybe he’ll do that thing, with his tongue, that renders Louis utterly legless and has him biting down on his pillow to keep from screaming…

Eleanor continues. 

“… _Styles invites the viewer to consider his subjects in the context of their personal histories yet in doing so he does not limit, but in fact frees them from their pasts. In particular his portrayal of victimhood, what it means to be a victim of abuse and of circumstance, is as refreshing as it is enlightening. He does not invite moral judgement and he does not allow us to pity the prostitute anymore than he allows us to admire the CEO. He seems to ask only that we consider his subjects as human beings, on equal terms with each other and ourselves. He captures humanity in a way that only very few artists in a generation are ever capable of doing. His exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery runs from the 18th…. yada yada yada... oh here… the exhibition is set to be not only career-defining for Styles but ground-breaking for twenty-first century portraiture._ ”

Eleanor looks up from the page, a note of triumph in her voice.

The others are all smiling at Harry and among them is Louis, who is beaming with pride. Harry has read the article so many times over the course of the day he almost knows it off by heart but hearing it read anew makes him as giddy as the first time.

“Oh hey, look at this bit here…” Liam grabs the article and wrinkles up his nose against the bright sun. “There’s a shout out to you Louis!”

“Indeed there is,” Louis grins smugly, throwing his arms behind his head and leaning back against his sun-lounger. He throws a wink at Harry as Liam reads out the small caption in the corner of the photo. 

“ _Harry Styles (right) in his stunning North London home which he shares with his husband, acclaimed theatre director, Louis Tomlinson (left) and their two young children, Gemma (bottom right) and George (bottom left)_.”

“Oh, you’re acclaimed now are you Tommo?” Zayn teases.

“Apparently so.” Louis spreads his hands defensively. “Mate, I was as surprised as you when I saw that.” 

“You _are_ acclaimed,” Harry protests. It’s a shame they hadn’t said more about Louis, he thinks to himself. In the interview he had gone on and on about how much of his work was inspired by Louis’. The way that Louis drew such dignity out of every character, the way that he confronted the audience with these very real, very stark specimens of humanity without apology, the way that he understood suffering so completely and with such gentleness of heart, and at times such brilliant comedy, that Harry always took a packet of tissues to every production he saw. The interviewer had nodded along politely, had even agreed that she admired “Mr Tomlinson’s” work, but had made it fairly clear her brief was to write about Harry. Especially, she had remarked, considering that Louis already had a good deal of articles written about himself. Still, _something_ would have been nice. Harry makes a mental note to repeat every word of credit to Louis later tonight, between kisses.

“I think I would have preferred _revered_ to _acclaimed_. Makes me sound more mysterious…” Louis says, as Harry pulls himself back out of his thoughts.

“Makes you sound more like a twat,” Eleanor slaps his thigh fondly before stretching her legs and standing up. “I’m going to go check on Max. Make sure that he hasn’t accidentally swapped one of the kids for a lilo or something…”

“Is that something he’s liable to do?” Niall asks in horror. 

“Never know with that one,” Eleanor smirks and turns to Harry. “It really is a wonderful article darling, congratulations. I can’t wait to see the exhibition.”

“Thank you El,” Harry grins up at her and she heads to the other side of the terrace where the children’s pool is located. 

Liam, who is stretched out on his lounger, with Zayn half-between his legs, lets out a long deep sigh. 

“I wish Ed could play in places like this all the time.”

“Mmm, me too,” Louis agrees closing his eyes against the sun. “This is much better than last time, do you remember? Can’t believe the bastard didn’t even tell us it was the fucking monsoon season!” Louis laughs at the memory, although Harry seems to remember that at the time he had not found it quite so funny. 

“Everything got soaked and nobody could go outside!” Niall groans. “And there wasn’t even a fucking play area or anything for the kids. Melissa and I didn’t get a moment to ourselves…” 

“Thank goodness,” Zayn mutters, “we were right next door to you!”

Just at that moment, as Zayn and Niall fall into routine playful bickering, the pad-pad of small wet feet against the decking reaches Harry’s ears. He looks around to see his son approaching, holding his tiny hands up against the bright blue sky. 

“You alright Georgie Porgie?” Harry asks softly, reaching out his arms and scooping his son onto his lap, not minding that he is soaking wet all over. George nods once and then yawns, leaning against his father’s broad chest and shivering slightly.

“Where’s your big sister?” Louis asks from where he is sprawled on his back on the next lounger. He reaches out a lazy arm to gently wiggle George’s ankle where it is dangling in front of Harry’s shin. George points in the direction of the pool.

“Aunty Eleanor says she is going to teach us all how to dive,” he mumbles into Harry’s chest, “but I think I am too little for diving.” 

“Oh really?” Harry says gently, and runs his hand through George’s hair, pushing the chlorine out of his worried eyes. “You are very little,” he agrees. 

He places a kiss on the top of his son’s head. You are so very, very little, he thinks. He feels suddenly overwhelmed, as he often does these days, by just how precious a thing innocence is, how fragile. He looks up and catches Louis watching them both. 

“Hey you know,” Louis says sweetly, “if you don’t want to dive you don’t have to. Aunty Eleanor won’t mind one bit love.”

George nods slowly and then turns to stare up at Harry, eyes wide in a question.

“Papa’s right pumpkin. Of course you don’t have to dive if you don’t want to. You just do you, ok!”

George nods in earnest and Louis laughs, shaking his head at Harry.

“You’re too cute for your own good, you know that Styles,” he says.

“Tomlinson-Styles,” Harry pouts, as Louis reaches out and tickles the underside of George’s foot. 

“You too Georgie porgie,” Louis says, “you are far too cute for your own good.” Their son squeals and squirms in delight, held in place only by Harry’s firm embrace. After a few more merciless moments, Louis relents and lies back again, chuckling softly to himself. Harry wants to burst with pride. His family is just about the loveliest family there is, he reckons. He buries a kiss in George’s wet hair. 

After a few quiet moments, in which all the world seems to be somewhere else except for the unmistakable squeals of Gemma, splashing about on the far side of the terrace, George suddenly cries out in excitement and hops down from Harry’s lap, evidently determined to re-join his sister in the pool, all fear of diving forgotten. 

“Don’t run!” Harry calls after his tiny retreating form. 

“Oh, he’ll be alright,” Louis says calmly, his gaze following their son fondly until he is safely round the corner. Then Louis heaves himself up from his sun-lounger with exaggerated effort and moves to join his husband. 

“Hey you,” Harry whispers in his ear as he sits down. 

“Hey love,” Louis whispers back, squinting against the sun. “M’so proud of you.”

“Proud of us,” Harry whispers in reply, and sneaks his hand into Louis’ lap. He lets his gaze linger for a moment on Louis’ profile, on the sharp line of his jaw and the scruff of his holiday stubble. He takes a second to admire the deep lines around Louis’ eyes, which are now a permanent feature on his face. The deeper curves around his mouth, the tiny streak of silver hair behind his ear which, Harry is pretty certain, Louis hasn’t noticed yet. What a hellish day in the Tomlinson-Styles household that will be, he thinks fondly. He kisses the streak secretly, and Louis closes his eyes and hums softly under his breath.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Harry smiles against his ear and nods. 

“I know. And that officially makes me the luckiest man in the entire world.”

“Hmm,” Louis opens his beautiful blue eyes and turns to scowl indignantly at his husband. “Second luckiest. After me.”

“Agree to disagree?” Harry offers. Louis thinks about it for a moment and while he does, Harry lets his lips gently graze Louis’ jaw. He smells of sunscreen and chlorine, but behind that is the warm, familiar scent of happiness and home. 

_Their_ happiness. _Their_ home.

After a moment Louis speaks. 

“Agree to _agree_ that we are both, definitely, the two luckiest men in the entire world?” 

Harry pretends to think about it until his grin gets the better of him. He nods.

“Agreed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for reading my lovelies! I have enjoyed writing this so much and it is down to the wonderful support and comments and kudos and everything from all of you. I hope you have enjoyed reading and if you have please share and spread the word! I'm [happilylarreh](http://happilylarreh.tumblr.com/post/127486849255/we-the-fireworks-by-happilylarreh-warnings).
> 
> Pssst… I have posted the first chapter of my new [Music Management AU fic here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4515213/chapters/10270068/) so please do check it out, bookmark it, whatever. Clearly I have caught writing fever…


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